It Might Not Be A Pretty Picture
by Cirocco
Summary: Briscoe and McCoy get involved when Rey Curtis is charged with his mother's murder.
1. The Arrest

**Chapter 1: The Arrest**

Disclaimer: Not mine, Dick Wolf's. No permission, no profit, no money, yadda yadda.

From the episode "Burden", set in 1998

_Briscoe:  They had no reason to want to see him dead.  You did.  Look what's happening in your beautiful family.  Your wife's sleeping with some dance teacher, your daughter's one step away from living on the street, and you have no money.  And all because of that kid!_

_Suspect: You don't know me, if you knew me you would see-_

_Briscoe:  I know you!  If you had the stones -_

_Curtis:    You don't know this man, Lennie.  Look, this isn't about money, or adultery, or anything like that, is it, Joe?  
My wife's got MS.  I picture her life ten years from now.  And it kills me, because it might not be a pretty picture.  You see your boy, he used to be strong, played soccer, yeah?_

_Suspect: Yes._

_Curtis:    My wife used to run three miles every morning.  Did you imagine Michael at twenty years old, forty years old, still in that same room, same bed, same tortured pain?_

_Suspect: Yeah._

_Curtis:    Me too.  And you wanna know the worst thing?  I know why it's happening.  It's my fault.  God is punishing her because of something I did._

_Suspect: No no, see, you cannot think like that._

_Curtis:    I tell myself that, but every time I look at her I feel the guilt.  Every time I think of her, every time I think of my daughters, and what they're going to lose.  
Someone you love is suffering, they have no hope.  What can you do to help this person?  I mean, how often have you asked yourself this question?  When you bathe him?_

_Suspect: Every time I kissed him good night._

_Curtis:    And you knew there was only one answer.  You had to do it.  You had to do it because you loved him. (Suspect starts crying).  Let it go.  It was an act of love, Joe._

_Suspect: I loved Michael.  And maybe I ... But I didn't do this.  I didn't kill him._

_===_

_Saturday, September 27, 2003  
1:17 am_

Lennie Briscoe yawned as he and Ed Green drove to the scene of a possible homicide.  Green filled Briscoe in on the information they had so far.  "Elderly Hispanic woman, looks like a drug overdose, found by her daughter.  Don't know why they called us."

"Where is this place again?"

"229 Millview Avenue, Apt 14."

"I swear I know that address from somewhere."

They arrived.  There was an ambulance and a police car in front of the building, and a couple of people standing outside talking.

"Oh, yeah, I know now - this is where Rey Curtis and his family moved last year.  Haven't had a chance to visit them yet."  As Briscoe and Green entered the building, Briscoe took in the seedy surroundings, the garbage on the street, the broken windows.  This didn't look like the tidy little neighbourhood Curtis and his family used to live in.

Briscoe wondered where in the building the Curtis family lived, and if they'd been woken up by the commotion.  Maybe if this did warrant an investigation, he could stop by Rey's place a few times during the course of his work.  They had slowly drifted apart in the last couple of years, and Briscoe hadn't seen Curtis or his family in over a year.  He wondered how the girls were doing, and how Deborah, Curtis' wife, was coping with her MS.

When they arrived at Apt 14, they flashed their badges and entered the apartment.  There weren't very many people around, but the apartment was tiny and seemed very crowded.  The photographer had finished her initial work and was just waiting for additional instructions from the detectives, and the uniformed cops were talking to the family in the bedroom.  Briscoe's eyebrows went up.  There was Curtis' family - his wife Deborah, in a wheelchair, holding their nine-year old Isabel's hand.  Deborah looked a lot thinner than the last time Briscoe had seen her, and older.  A woman Briscoe didn't know was holding a small child, maybe two years old.  Curtis' older daughters, Olivia and Serena, stood close to their mother.

"Lennie?" Deborah looked up at him with reddened eyes.

"Deborah, what are you doing here?  Hi girls," Briscoe gave Deborah a hug and bent down to ruffle the girls' hair.

"Do you know these people, Detective?" a uniform came up behind him.

"Yeah, they're Rey Curtis' family - he used to be my partner.  What's going on?"

"The victim is Estela Curtis.  These people called it in - this lady came in to check on her mother and found her dead," he pointed to the woman Briscoe didn't recognize.

"You're a friend of Rey's?  I'm Lisa, his sister.  That's our mother," she pointed to the bed, her eyes tear-filled.

Briscoe put his hand on Deborah's shoulder. "Deborah.  I'm so sorry.  Where's Rey?"

Green noticed that Deborah and Lisa glanced at each other quickly.  Deborah nodded to Lisa, who spoke first, "He's - he's out-" at that moment there was a small commotion at the front door.

"What's going on in here?"

"Sir, you can't go in there-"

"This is my mother's apartment, let me in," Briscoe heard Curtis' voice.

"It's OK, let him in," he called out.  He entered the small living room just as Curtis was allowed in.

Briscoe took a look at his former partner and was shocked.  Curtis looked like he had aged about ten years since the last time Briscoe had seen him.  He had always had proud posture, a bright expression and impeccable grooming, in contrast with Briscoe's own 'slouch and grouch' demeanor.  This man... was almost unrecognizable.  He was simply dressed, in a white t-shirt and jeans, and his face looked gaunt and lined, his eyes shadowed.  His ribs showed under the t-shirt, and his jeans hung loosely on his hips.  His shoulders slumped and his hair, much longer than before and falling down into his eyes, sported grey that hadn't been there the last time Briscoe had seen him.  But most striking were his eyes, which weren't the same intelligent, alert eyes that Briscoe had met every day for four years.  Curtis's eyes were tired, bloodshot, dull.

"Lennie? What's going on?  Is Deborah-"

"She's fine, Rey."  Curtis relaxed slightly.  "Rey, your mother..."

"She's dead, Daddy," said Isabel, who had followed Briscoe into the living room.  "Nona's dead.  Aunt Lisa found her and we called the police."  She started to cry.  Curtis stared at her in shock for a minute, then bent down to pick her up.

"Where were you?"  asked Green, entering the living room.

"It's, it's the last Friday of the month... I was out, it's my night off..." Curtis muttered distractedly, holding his daughter close and stroking her hair.

"Where did you go?"

"My sister takes the kids and Deborah, and I get to go out."

"Where?"

Curtis shook his head and looked at Green for the first time.  "Oh, sorry, I went to a bar on 59th... Rosario's, Rosita's, or something."  Green wrote it down.  Curtis focused on him. "You're taking our statements?" he realized.

"Yes, we are."

"What, is there evidence of foul play?  How did she die?"

"We don't know yet.  But it does seem a little suspicious."

"Suspicious how?"

"Well, right now it looks like a suicide or drug overdose, but-"

"Suicide?!" Curtis shook his head vehemently.  "Not my mother.  She's Catholic," he explained.  "Very old-fashioned Catholic, it's a sin."

"Well, what else could have killed her?"

"I - I don't know.  She's sixty-eight years old but she's in pretty good health, except for the Alzheimer's-"

"Alzheimer's?  And she lives alone?"

"Ed..." Briscoe began.  Curtis didn't seem to notice Green's accusative manner.

"We live two floors up.  She's - she was gonna move in with us eventually.  She was just in the early stages of Alzheimer's.  I check in on her every day.  She had my beeper number in case anything went wrong."  The little girl in Curtis's arms kept crying, and he started to rock her gently from side to side as he held her.  "Shhhh...." He patted her hair.  "Sweetie, you should go to bed.  Lisa," he called out. Lisa appeared. "Can you take the kids back to the apartment, put them to bed?  How come they're up anyway?"

"I'm sorry, I was so upset when I came back and got Deborah, I woke them up."  She took the little girl from him and left, murmuring softly to her.

"Rey," Briscoe said.  Curtis turned to him, eyes a little dazed.

"I'm sorry about your mother."

"Yeah.  Me too, I guess." Curtis was silent for a minute, then shook his head to clear it. "Can - can I see her?"

Briscoe and Green led Curtis to the back bedroom, where an old woman lay on the bed.  Curtis seemed confused, and said nothing as he stared at his mother's body on the bed.  He knelt down beside her slowly.  Then he touched her shoulder gently, crossed himself, and stayed next to her for a moment silently with his eyes closed and his head bowed.  At last he opened his eyes, crossed himself again and stood up, then returned to the living room.

"What's suspicious about her death?"

"The EMT said that all they've found in the house so far that could be deadly was Tylenol, which isn't fatal that quickly even in large doses," Green said.

"When did this happen?  When were you called?"

"Just now.  We got here just a few minutes before you."

Curtis nodded, then sat down on the couch, putting his head in his hands.  Briscoe sat down next to him and noticed that Curtis had a faint smell of alcohol, cigarette smoke, sweat - and marijuana.  Briscoe privately wondered just how popular pot was at this bar Curtis had been to, and what straight-laced Curtis thought about it.  He remembered his young partner telling him once, 'I'm not one of those parents who has a problem taking a strong stand against drugs. I never took drugs and I don't feel like a hypocrite telling my kids not to.'  And now he had apparently spent the night at a bar where it was common enough to get the smell onto his clothes.

Deborah was wheeled back into the living room. "Rey," she said.  Curtis looked up, smiled at her wanly, and took her hand.

"You all done with the police, hon?" he asked her.

"Yeah.  I think so.  There wasn't much to say.  Lennie," she turned to him, "are you going to be looking into this?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks."  She touched Curtis' cheek. "Are you all done talking to them?"

"I think so.  Am I?" Curtis asked Briscoe and Green.

"For now, yeah.  Go get some rest, put your kids to bed," Briscoe said.

===

"Let's go check out Rosario's," Green said as they exited the building.

Briscoe shrugged.  "You go check it out, Ed."  At Green's questioning look, he explained, "Come on, the guy used to be my partner, I'm not gonna go checking out his alibi."

"I'm sure it'll be fine.  This looks enough like a suicide to me, even if your friend doesn't think so.  Maybe she had other medication we haven't found yet, got really confused and took too much.  I'll let you know if I turn up anything strange."

"Yeah, well, if you do I'll take myself off the case."

===__

_Sunday, September 28  
5:45pm_

Two days later, Briscoe and Green knocked on the door of Curtis's apartment.  As they waited, they heard a child screaming, then a man's voice raised sharply.  Crash of glass, quick footsteps, then a man's voice yelling briefly and the sound of a slap.  The child screamed some more.  Briscoe frowned and knocked again, louder this time.

"Yeah?" Curtis' voice called from inside the apartment.

"Rey?  It's Lennie.  Can we come in?"

"Yeah, yeah," Curtis' voice called out. "Serena, abra la puerta por favor."  A child's voice answered, unintelligible. "Abrela!" Curtis' voice snapped.

Serena Curtis opened the door.  Briscoe smiled down at her, "Hi, sweetheart."  She looked up at him, serious and obviously upset.  "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'," she opened the door wider and scurried down the hall.  Briscoe and Green entered the apartment.  Curtis appeared from the kitchen, carrying the baby in a sling on his hip and holding a broom and dustpan.  Once more, Briscoe was struck by the change in his old friend.  Curtis looked worn and tired.

"Hey, Lennie.  Ed, is it?" he hardly looked at them as he moved to the living room, to a spot where something made of glass had clearly shattered.  "Sorry, I'll be with you in a minute - Serena just broke a glass. I told that kid not to bring it in here-" he broke off as the baby in the sling started to squirm, almost causing him to drop her.  "No, Tania, stop it, I have to get the glass off the floor - dejate - mierda!" he exclaimed, exasperated, as he tried to handle the broom and dustpan and the struggling child.

"Rey, give her to me," Briscoe held out his arms for the child.  "Tania, you want to come see Uncle Lennie?"  The child peered at him suspiciously, then clung tighter to Curtis.

"Sorry, she doesn't know you," Curtis said shortly. "She'll kick like a mule if you take her."

"I don't mind.  Give you a chance to sweep that up before anybody steps on it."

"Thanks," Curtis transferred the squirming child over to Briscoe, then quickly swept up the mess.  He took the child, now screaming, back from Briscoe as soon as he was done and placed her back in the sling.  She quieted down instantly.

"Rey, we need to talk to you about your mother's death," Briscoe began.

"Yeah.  Hey, I'm in the middle of making dinner, you mind coming into the kitchen while we talk?"

"Sure." They followed him into a tiny kitchen where a pot was bubbling. "How are you doing?" Briscoe asked him.

"What?  Oh, fine.  The funeral's on Tuesday at 1. St. Ignacio's Church on 58th."

Curtis stared at the kitchen countertop for a minute as if he couldn't remember what he was supposed to be doing, then moved to a bunch of vegetables lying half-chopped and finished chopping them, automatically moving the knife away from the grasping hands of the child in the sling as he worked.

"What did you want to know?  Did the ME finish the autopsy report?"

Green answered him. "No, it's not quite done yet.  It does look like an overdose, though.  Not a heart attack or stroke.  Now, you said you were at a bar?"

"Yeah," Curtis nodded, concentrating on his cooking and not looking at Briscoe or Green.

"You left home at about 7:30, and you came home at 1:30am?"

Another quick nod.

"OK.  The problem is, Rey, that I went to the bar you were at, and you weren't there that long.  The bartender said you came in at 8pm, but left before 9.  And you didn't get home until 1:30.  Can you clear that up for us?"

Curtis sighed and closed his eyes, then opened them, dumped the vegetables into a pot, and turned to face Briscoe and Green.  He looked at the floor, opened his mouth, then closed it again, trying to find the words.  "No, I, I wasn't at the bar the whole time, I-" he suddenly noticed his eldest daughter Olivia, standing at the kitchen door.

"Honey, please go watch your sisters.  I have to talk to Lennie and Detective Green for a while, OK?"

"Why?"

Curtis sighed wearily.  "Vayase por favor.  Serena necesita ayuda con sus tareas."

"No, I wanna stay." Curtis brushed his bangs out of his eyes and rubbed his forehead tiredly.  "Daddy, I know what you did on Friday.  It's OK.  I can stay."

Curtis smiled bitterly and shook his head as he stared at the floor.  "Sweetheart, go back inside, please."

"You went to a bar and picked up another woman and slept with her, right?"

Curtis' head snapped up and he stared at Olivia. "What?!  How-"

"It's OK, I know," she said gently.  "Mom knows too.  It's OK, Daddy.  I was pretty mad at you when I figured it out but Mom said she understood and that's what men do and since she can't-"

Curtis made a small sound in his throat, reached out and hugged his daughter hard, stopping her words.  His face looked ashen in the split second before he knelt down and buried his face into her hair.  His shoulders heaved for a moment, as he tried desperately to bring himself under control.  Olivia hugged him back, then pulled away to look at him, but he couldn't meet her eyes.  The baby whimpered and tried to touch his face.  Briscoe and Green glanced at each other, uncomfortable being present at such a painful and private moment.

"Did she look like Mom?" Olivia asked.  Curtis made a sound like a sob and swallowed hard.

"Honey, I really can't talk about this to you, OK?" his voice shook.  "It's - it's not something you should even... even know about at your age.  God, I'm so sorry..." his eyes filled with tears.  He stroked his daughter's hair, obviously fighting for calm.

"It's OK, Daddy.  Nobody's mad at you.  Nobody blames you."

"Please, sweetie, we'll talk about this later, go inside, please." He wiped his eyes quickly and cleared his throat, standing and pushing her gently away.

"Daddy-"

"Olivia, vayase por favor."

"Uncle Lennie, Daddy didn't do anything wrong, not against the law anyway.  Don't treat him like he's a criminal, I mean, you know him-"

"Olivia!  Adentro, ahora!"  The baby in Curtis's arms started at his sharp tone and started to whimper.  He automatically cradled and soothed her, looking at Olivia pleadingly. "Vayase, hablamos mas tarde, ya?"

"Should I take the baby?"

"Yeah." He passed her off, along with the sling. "Thanks."  He was silent as his daughters left the small kitchen.  He sagged against the kitchen counter for a moment, then wiped his eyes and cleared his throat again. "Yeah.  I, I wasn't alone at the bar," he said quietly, gathering up the vegetable peels and throwing them into the trash.

Briscoe winced at the pain and shame in Curtis' voice and face. "Rey, why didn't you tell us?"

Curtis grimaced in self-disgust.  "Why do you think?" He picked up a wooden spoon and started stirring the food in the pot. "I was ashamed, OK?  I get back from cheating on my wife - again - and my mother's dead and my friend's asking me questions in front of my wife and sister and kids about where I was.  What do you want me to say, 'Oh, I was out getting lucky'?"

"This happens a lot?" Green asked neutrally.

Curtis sighed. "Just about every last Friday of the month," he said bitterly, and gave his eyes another quick swipe with the back of his hand.  He took a long, shuddering breath and swallowed.

"Can you tell us the name of the lady you were with?"

"No, actually, I can't.  Rita, I think.  Anita?  I can tell you where she lived and what she looked like, though." Curtis' jaw was set as he stirred the vegetables.  He still hadn't met Briscoe's or Green's eyes.

"That would be helpful."

"Hispanic, maybe 5'6", athletic build, long black hair, kinda curly, no bangs.  Wide cheekbones, wore lots of jewelry.  Red dress, I think - it was pretty dark at the bar.  Apartment near Rosario's, I can point it out to you.  She's probably a regular there.  Am I... are you doing an investigation?"

"No, not me," Briscoe volunteered.  "Right now we're just asking questions.  If it comes to an investigation I won't be doing it."

Curtis briefly met his eyes, then looked back down.  "Thanks, I guess."

"Was this lady at the bar a pro?"  Green asked in the same neutral tone as before.

"A pro?"  Curtis frowned briefly in puzzlement, then understood and blushed. "Oh. Oh, no.  Just a patron."

"Do you mind if I talk to your family, Rey?" Green asked.

"Fine, go ahead."  Green excused himself.

Curtis finished cooking, then started to clear off the tiny table in the kitchen.  Silence stretched out, until he said, "What, Lennie, no comment?  I woulda thought you'd have something to say."

Briscoe shook his head.  "I don't know what to say."  He suddenly felt awkward before this bitter stranger who looked so much like his ex-partner.  "Look, can I help you with anything - set the table, anything?"

Curtis looked up, startled at the offer.  "Uh, sure - three settings on the table.  Cutlery's in here, dishes, glasses over there." The two men worked in silence for a few minutes.

"How's Deborah doing?"

"You saw her. How's it look like she's doing?" Curtis half-snapped, but his voice was too tired to give the words any sting.  He opened the oven door and took out a meatloaf.

"And the kids?"

"Fine.  Well, Serena's going through some trouble, and Tania... you know she's disabled, right?  Two and a half years old, pretty much at the physical development of a one-year old, mentally it's hard to tell but she's way behind."

"What happened?"

"I don't know.  At the time Deborah was taking Cyclophosphamide - we didn't know she was pregnant.  That may have done it.  Or it may just have been one of those things.  Shit happens."  He sliced the meatloaf, then moved to pour milk into the glasses.  His voice was flat, unemotional as he worked quickly, then looked up at Briscoe's pitying gaze.

"Rey..." Briscoe trailed off.  "How - how's your family doing?"  Curtis was silent.  "I mean, seven years ago... you had one fling and it nearly tore you apart.  Now... every month?"

"Shit happens," Curtis said shortly.  He took a tray out of a cupboard and started setting a place on it, then put food on the tray.  "If you don't mind, I have to feed my family now," he closed the conversation off.

Briscoe looked at the table, and asked, "Where are you and Deborah eating?"

"Deborah eats in her room when she's not feeling too good.  I already ate." Briscoe looked at his friend's gaunt frame.  "Do you mind?  I have to get the kids in here, and it's too crowded with five people."

Briscoe nodded and backed up out of the kitchen.

"We'll let you know when the ME's report is done."

"Thanks." Curtis called out into the small hallway, "Niñas!  Vengan!"

Olivia, Serena and Isabel trooped down the hallway, making their way to the kitchen.  Olivia gave her father's arm a squeeze as she went past him.  He smiled at her sadly, then picked up the tray and took it to the back of the apartment.  Olivia looked up at Lennie.

"He didn't do anything wrong, Uncle Lennie.  Don't go around making him feel bad, asking him all sortsa questions.  He's doing his best."

"Shut up," Serena shot her sister a dirty look.  Olivia ignored her.

"He don't get help from anybody.  I try, but he says I'm too little and he doesn't want me doing too much around the house.  He says I should do my homework instead.  And Mom tries too but she's too sick."

Curtis came out of the hallway with a basket of dirty laundry.

"Do you have anything else to ask about?" he asked.  Briscoe shook his head.  Curtis opened the front door for him and Green, then followed them out. "Laundry's downstairs," he explained at Green's questioning look.  "See you."

Green and Briscoe went back to the car.

"What do you think?" asked Green.  Briscoe looked at him.

"I already told you what I think.  I don't think anything happened - his mom just died, that's all."

"You don't think it's suspicious that he didn't tell us he left the bar with another woman?  What with him being a cop and all?"

"You heard him.  He's embarrassed.  Besides, he didn't lie - just didn't tell us the whole truth."

"He should know better."

"What, he should know better than to lie or he should know better than to sleep around?"

"Both."

Briscoe looked out the window, remembering another cocky young detective who also made snap judgments on the people they met during their work, who had been convinced that nothing excused cheating, lying, or any of the other human failings they encountered every day.  He wondered where that man had gone.

===

_Monday, September 29  
10:20am_

"Thanks," Briscoe accepted a cup of coffee from Curtis' lieutenant.  "So... what's Rey like at work these days?"

"You used to be his partner, didn't you?" Briscoe nodded. "He had a lot of stories about you in the first while after he got here.  He did pretty good at first."

"What changed?"

"That last kid, that's what changed.  He was pretty upset when they found out Deborah was pregnant again.  She was four months along, and she was taking some heavy meds.  The doctor told them she shouldn't have the baby, but... well, you know they're Catholic." Briscoe nodded.

"So then the baby was born.  It was pretty hard on him for the first couple of months, especially since Deborah was also getting worse - that's around when she finally went into the wheelchair for good.  We all figured it would get better when the baby got older.  But the baby's got some kind of problem, birth defect or something.  It's been tough for him."

"How's he doing at work?"

The lieutenant looked uncomfortable.  "I know he used to be a good detective, Briscoe... we all understand why he's not always able to give it 100%.  We don't have any complaints."

"About what?"

"Look, I don't want this being part of an investigation."

"Off the record.  I'm not doing an investigation, I'm just worried about him."

"He's... he's not doing too good.  He comes in late, works alone, doesn't talk to anybody, often leaves early.  Takes a lot of personal days - Tania gets sick a lot.  Usually looks exhausted, kinda scruffy.  He... he misplaces files, gets behind on his work - he always fixes whatever he screws up, but... the screw-ups are getting more and more frequent these days. We all cover for him, but there's only so far we can cover, you know?"

"How's he doing with the other people here... does he have friends, people to talk to, people who could help out?"

"To be honest, he doesn't spend much time socializing.  Most of the time he works through coffee breaks and sleeps at lunch time.  I get the feeling he doesn't get a lot of sleep at home.  As for going out for drinks after work - forget it.  He doesn't have the time.  He's pretty much a loner, really."

Briscoe remembered when Curtis had a serious demeanor but an easy smile, and lots of friends at the 27th.  Nobody could have said that Curtis was the biggest party animal in the precinct, but he wasn't a loner either.  This man seemed so different.

"How long has this been going on?"

"It's been gradual, over the last few years.  The last year has been really bad.  I've actually had to bring him in to talk to him a couple of times about his work, getting behind on stuff.  He's gotten a few black marks that I just couldn't keep off his record."

===

Green looked up as Briscoe entered the squad room.  "Lennie, I think it's time to ask the Lieutenant to take you off the case."

"Why?" Briscoe's heart sank.

"The ME says that the old lady took a whole bunch of pills, all right, but they weren't the pills that were supposed to be in that pillbox.  She was supposed to be taking tacrine, but what they found in her stomach was Methotrexate instead.  That's used as an MS drug, and Deborah's got a prescription for it.  The ME also found alcohol, a lot of it.  She OD'd on alcohol and the MS drug.  Plus," Briscoe closed his eyes as Green continued, "I checked her will. She just changed it to give everything to Rey and his family, not that there's much of an estate or anything, but none of it's going to Rey's brother and sister.  Plus, her life insurance names Rey as the beneficiary.  I thought she might be a suicide but there's no note, and her life insurance doesn't cover suicide.  And even he says she wouldn't have killed herself."

Briscoe sat down heavily. "That doesn't look too good."

"No, it doesn't."

"Eddie, I know Rey.  He just wouldn't do anything like this."

"What about his wife?"

"His wife's in a wheelchair.  And she wouldn't either."

"How well do you know them now?" Green asked pointedly.  Briscoe shrugged and looked away. "It didn't look like they have a lot of money.  I saw lots of patches on the kid's clothes, broken stuff in the apartment.  It looks like they're hurting pretty bad for cash.  Plus you saw him, Lennie.  He looks pretty tired already from taking care of all the kids and his wife, and his mother had Alzheimer's.  Who do you think was going to take care of her?  That alone would give him motive."

"Not Rey," Briscoe maintained stubbornly.

"If you didn't know him, he'd be your prime suspect now, wouldn't he?"

Briscoe hesitated, hating himself for what he had to say.  "Yeah.  Yeah, he would."

"Then go get the Lieutenant to assign somebody else to this."

Briscoe nodded sadly and got up. "Ed... just make sure you look at other possibilities too, OK?"

"OK."

===

Briscoe attended the funeral for Curtis' mother and spent some time with him and his family, getting to know them again.  He was struck by how joyless they all were.  Not that this was abnormal - the death of a parent or grandparent was bound to bring up sadness and loss and introspection - but it seemed to him that the family was different from how he remembered them.  He remembered a young couple, very much in love, with three little girls full of energy and joy.  He remembered Curtis' face lighting up when they came to see him at the precinct, picking up his children and talking to them with visible pleasure, playing with them and seeming happy in their presence.

None of that seemed evident now.  As he visited with them, he was struck again and again by how little Curtis and his wife talked, as well as Curtis' constant motion.  There was no time when he wasn't doing dishes, tending bumps and bruises, feeding and changing the baby, cooking, cleaning, folding clothing.  His elder daughter often helped, but overall it seemed that Curtis had an insurmountable load of drudgework to do, and that he spent most of his waking hours doing it.

The change in Serena, his second oldest child, was also disturbing.  He hadn't seen her much in the last few years, and knew that a few years could change a child into a whole new person.  But the child he remembered had had big gap-toothed smile and perpetual excited chatter.  This child was sullen, almost always angry and hostile.  While he was there, she got into several fights with her sisters, which Curtis either ignored or broke up wearily, impatiently.  This usually resulted in shouting matches between Serena and Curtis.  Briscoe couldn't remember ever having heard Curtis fight with his children before, or go beyond a stern reprimand in his presence.  Now he didn't seem to talk to them much, especially to Serena, without weariness or anger tingeing his voice.

He wondered what Green was finding in his investigation.

===

_Wednesday, October 1  
11:35am_

"So... how's the Curtis case going?"

Green regarded him for a minute.  "Lennie."

Briscoe gave him a look.  "I'm not trying to interfere.  I'm just interested."

"I think we're pretty close to making an arrest," Green said.

"Who?"

"Rey."

"Are you serious?"

"Lennie, he's got the motive.  Two motives, actually.  For one, he and his family stand to get a hell of a lot of money, relatively speaking, from his mother's insurance.  And his family's not doing good at all.  They could use the cash, just to get them back on their feet money-wise and take off some of the pressure.  He's also under too much stress to take on the care of one more sick relative, that's the second motive.  We've been interviewing neighbours, teachers... even the precinct where he works.  And it's not a pretty picture."

"What do you mean?"

Green took out his notebook.

"Did you know his daughter Serena was arrested for dealing cocaine at her school?"

"Serena?  The ten-year old?!"

"Well, her school's right next to a high school, and some little entrepreneur decided to try to use the elementary kids to move his stuff.  Serena was one of them.  Apparently she's become quite the little problem child, but in this case it seems she wanted to help out the family financially and figured this was a good way to do it."  Briscoe shook his head in dismay.  "Rey had to keep her at home for months after that, as part of her conditions for release, otherwise she would have been in a juvenile detention centre.  She's also been suspended three times for fighting with the other kids."  Green paused for a moment, flipping through his notebook.

"The neighbours say they've heard a lot of fights between Rey and his wife, just yelling and stuff, but pretty frequent.  And they've seen him slap or spank his daughters when they misbehave.  Nothing to warrant charges of child abuse, but in this day and age a parent who's slapping in public is probably doing a lot more in private."

"Not Rey," Briscoe broke in.  "He couldn't hurt his kids, Ed.  He loves them."

"Yeah, well, then there's Rey himself.  I talked to his lieutenant, who told us he was just fine.  Pressed a little, and found out he's been withdrawn, derelict in his duties, screwed up a few times.  Pressed a little harder, and found out he also tested positive for marijuana on the day that the precinct had a surprise random drug test."

"Rey?!"

"Rey.  A civil rights group challenged the whole drug test issue almost right away and everybody's test results were thrown out.  None of it made it into anybody's official record, but still.  I noticed the day his mother died that his eyes were bloodshot when he came in, and he smelled like weed.  I thought at the time that he was just around it at the bar, but we know now he wasn't at the bar that long.  His lady friend, Rita Johannes, says he got it from her.  This is not good.  He's a cop, he should know better."

Briscoe leaned back in his chair, not knowing how to reconcile any of this with the man he thought he knew.  "This is all circumstantial though."

"Yeah, I know.  But the fact is, the old lady died from a drug overdose, from a drug she had no reason to have in her apartment, plus the reaction of that drug with alcohol.  And the fact is, she didn't drink and the drug was something Rey and his family would have had.  There's only three ways she could have had that overdose.  She could have killed herself, which doesn't seem likely since she wasn't depressed, hadn't talked to anybody about killing herself, and she was very devout.  She could have made a mistake, which again isn't likely because she would've had to make several mistakes and she just wasn't that confused.  Or somebody killed her.  And Rey had the motive, the means and the opportunity."

"What about the woman he slept with?  What did she say?"

"She said they met at about 8pm, went back to her place at about 8:30, had sex, smoked up, then he left around 10.  He says he doesn't remember when he left, just says he wandered around for a few hours.  Nobody saw him.  He could've gone to his mother's home in that time."

"And done what?  Force-fed his mother booze and MS drugs until she passed out?  Come on.  That doesn't make sense either."

"No, but there was quite a bit of food in her stomach.  He could have made her dinner, put the medication in it, gotten her to drink somehow, and there you go.  She was alive until about midnight.  That's plenty of time."

"Jesus."

"We're talking to their priest next.  Father Morelli."

===

_Thursday, October 2  
6:02pm_

Briscoe found himself back at Curtis's apartment building.  Curtis was in the laundry room and they talked as they worked, Briscoe sorting the clothes and Curtis quickly folding piles and piles of shirts, socks, pants, dresses and underwear.  Briscoe knew that he wasn't supposed to discuss an ongoing investigation with a potential suspect, but needed to know what was going on for his own peace of mind.

They made small talk for a while, which was a little difficult since Curtis hadn't kept up with sports or movies in the last few years and didn't have much to say about his job or family.  Briscoe wound up telling him about some of the more interesting cases he'd worked in the last few years and Curtis listened politely enough but didn't seem terribly into the conversation.  Finally, Briscoe brought up what was on his mind.

"Rey... there's something I wanted to ask you about."

"Yeah."

"You know I'm not working your mother's case, but I've been keeping in touch.  I uh... I know you tested positive for marijuana."

Curtis sighed.  "Yeah, I figured you would."

"Had you... had you been smoking up the day your mother died?  Off the record."

"Off the record?" he snorted. "Lennie, I know it's already on the record.  I'm sure Rita already told your partner."  He set aside a couple of torn pants, then continued folding.  "Yeah.  She had some at her place, and we did some after we, uh... I was pretty wasted when I got home.  I don't really remember much about you guys being there.  Except the kids were awake and that's just about my worst nightmare, being stoned in front of my kids.  Well, second worst nightmare, after my wife finding out about me sleeping around."  He shrugged listlessly. "Guess it's a good time for nightmares to come true or something."

Briscoe was silent, wondering how to phrase his next question.  He finally decided to cut to the chase.

"What's happened to you?  You're not the same guy I partnered with."

"You wanna know what my life is like, now, Lennie?" Curtis put down the dress he was folding and looked at Briscoe directly for the first time.  He chuckled mirthlessly.

"Things have changed a bit.  I work during the day at a job that doesn't mean anything to me and I do a piss-poor job because I just don't have the energy to care.  The only reason I haven't been fired yet is my Lieutenant has pity on me.  Then I get the girls from their babysitter, and I go home.  And then I'm it.  I'm the one to make the dinner, the laundry, the shopping, the cleaning, help with the kid's homework, go to parent-teacher interviews, all of it.  And take care of Deborah's medicines and Tania's therapy and all of that.  And I don't get to sit back with a beer and watch sports on TV because we can't afford beer and we can't afford cable - all our money goes to the babysitters and the nurse and the medication for Tania and Deborah.  Then at about 9 I put the girls to bed, spend half an hour with Deborah, we pray together, I put her to bed, and then I keep doing housework or some extra work that I take home to make ends meet.  I go to bed around 1 or 2, wake up with the baby a few times, then I get up and do it all again.  And that's it.  I don't have anything else, and it's not gonna get any better.  Secondary-progressive MS doesn't get any better, it just keeps getting worse, and Deborah's already pretty bad.  And Tania's not going to improve much either.  Some days I wish it was all over or that there was something else to look forward to.  But there isn't."  He stopped and took a breath.  It looked like he wasn't used to talking much any more and seemed surprised to still be speaking.  He picked up another small pair of pants, getting back into the rhythm of folding the clothing.

"You know, the crazy thing is I'm still in love with Deborah.  Her mind's still there, just her body's breaking down.  You know she can't even really feed herself any more, or... or go to the washroom by herself, or anything.  We haven't been... we haven't been intimate in years.  We're more like room-mates.  We fight a lot.  But... she's my best friend.  And I, I still dream about her at night, about - about being with her-" he stumbled to a stop again and swallowed hard.  Then he shook his head and started again.

"Once a month, my sister takes the house for one night so I can go out and be a regular person.  I get to go out to a bar, be by myself without five people depending on me for everything, maybe even forget what's going on in my life.  And... and... I get the chance to... to feel like a man again," his voice became rough and he cleared his throat. "Deborah... she's still... I wish she could, but she can't and, and I wish I was stronger, but..." he finally fell silent, then started putting the folded clothing into the baskets.

"Hey.  Partner, why didn't you tell me about any of this?"

Curtis withdrew as quickly as he had opened up.  He shot Briscoe a quick, hard look and answered, "What was I supposed to say?  Hey, Lennie, haven't seen you in a while, oh by the way my life's falling apart, wanna go shoot some pool?" Curtis stood up with the baskets and said "I have to go put this stuff away."

Briscoe followed Curtis up the stairs to his apartment and waited in the living room.  Curtis came back and sat down with the clothing he'd set aside, picking up a needle and thread.  Briscoe watched in silence as he quickly and efficiently mended the ripped pants.  He finally said, "It's not looking too good.  I know I'm not breaking protocol by telling you that.  You were a detective, you know what's going on."

Curtis sighed again.  "Look, I'm guilty of lots of stuff.  Adultery, doing drugs, going to the bar and drinking away money that should've gone to my kids... yelling at them and slapping them when they weren't doing anything that bad, just 'cause I was too tired and upset to think straight and be patient.  But I didn't kill my mother."

Briscoe nodded.  "I believe you.  I'm here, OK?  You and Deborah took care of me when my daughter was killed.  I don't think I woulda gotten through that without you.  Let me help."

The doorbell rang.  Olivia ran out to get it, and the baby wailed as she was woken up from her nap.  Ed Green and his partner on the case, John Colton, stood at the door.  Olivia stared up at them and Curtis stood up slowly.  Green and Colton entered the apartment, and Green glanced at Briscoe.  He shook his head sadly.

"Mom!" Olivia screamed, and ran down the hallway.  Green approached Curtis.

"Reynaldo Curtis, you are under arrest for the murder of Estela Curtis.  You have the right to remain silent.  Anything you do say can and will be held against you in a court of law.  You have the right to an attorney.  If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the State.  Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?"

Olivia had pushed Deborah's wheelchair to the entrance to the living room.  Serena had also appeared, holding the baby, with Isabel peeking out from behind her.  Deborah covered her mouth with her hands as she looked at her husband.  Curtis stared down at the floor expressionlessly and held out his hands as Green moved to cuff him.

"Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?" Green repeated.

Curtis looked up at his wife and daughters and when he spoke his voice was husky and subdued.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I understand."

He was led away in cuffs.

===

**Author's Note:** This story was inspired by the episode 'Burden', where a brain-damaged quadriplegic boy dies and the family is suspected of killing him because he had become a burden to them.  There's a scene  (quoted at the beginning of the story) where Curtis is interrogating the victim's father, playing 'Good Cop'.  Although he's saying and doing whatever he can to get the suspect to confess, after the suspect is arrested and led away there is a close-up of his face that's heartbreaking.  It made me wonder what Rey's own family situation would be like as his wife's illness progressed.

By the way, while the Spanish in the story is grammatically correct, it's probably not the actual dialect that Rey and his family would use.  I'm Chilean, and I'm not sure what Rey is but I am pretty sure he's not Chilean.  So some of the vocabulary and syntax might be a little different.

For those obsessive enough to need to know, when Curtis talked to his daughters in Spanish this is what he said:

"Serena, abra la puerta por favor."  A child's voice answered, unintelligible. "Abrela!" Rey's voice snapped.  
"Serena, open the door please."... "Open it!"

"No, Tania, stop it, I have to get the glass off the floor - dejate - mierda!" he exclaimed, exasperated, as he tried to handle the broom and dustpan and the struggling child.  
"... Stop it - shit!"  (I'm sure that last is probably one of the few Spanish words most non-Hispanics would know :)

Curtis sighed wearily.  "Vayase por favor.  Serena necesita ayuda con sus tareas."  
"Go, please.  Serena needs help with her homework."

"Olivia, vayase por favor."  
"Olivia, go, please."

"Olivia!  Adentro, ahora!" the baby in Rey's arms started at his sharp tone and started to whimper.  He automatically cradled and soothed her, looking at Olivia pleadingly. "Vayase, hablamos mas tarde, ya?"  
"Olivia, go inside, now!" ...  "Go, we'll talk later, OK?"

Curtis called out into the small hallway, "Niñas!  Vengan!"  
"Girls!  Come!"


	2. Interrogation and Release

**Chapter 2: Interrogation and Release**

Disclaimer: Not mine, Dick Wolf's. No permission, no profit, no money, yadda yadda.

_Thursday, October 2, 2003  
8:31pm_

In the interrogation room, Green looked at Colton as he paced back and forth in front of their murder suspect, who sat quietly looking down at the table top, elbows resting on the table and a resigned expression on his face.  They had been there about an hour and a half already.  Green and Colton had run through all the factual questions in the first twenty minutes, and were now just trying to trip Curtis up.  Had been trying to, for over an hour.

"So you have no idea how those drugs got into your mother's house."

"No."

"Or what could have caused your mother to drink, real heavy, when she normally only drank Communion wine."

"No."

"That stuff just waltzed into your mother's apartment, and made it into her bloodstream with no help from you."  Colton shook his head.  "Oh the jury's gonna love that.  You make me sick.  I hope you're not gonna go looking for sympathy because you're a cop, or because your wife is sick-"

"I'm not looking for-"

"Shut up!  Don't expect any sympathy from me either.  I don't know you.  I never worked with you.  From what I've heard you haven't been a real cop in years, you're coasting along on your rep and letting the others in your precinct down."

Their suspect shrugged.

"You know, if you cooperate, you might get a deal that includes protection once you're inside.  I'm sure you know a pretty young cop would be real popular in Sing Sing.  Or maybe you're looking forward to that - it's more action than you get at home, right Rey?"

Curtis looked down at the table and sighed wearily.

===

ADA Serena Southerlyn, Lt. Van Buren and Briscoe watched from the observation room.

"I don't believe this," Briscoe muttered.

"Me neither," Van Buren said.  She looked at the thin, tired man at the table, comparing him with the brash young detective that had worked under her command for four years.  "Lennie... do you think he did it?"

Briscoe shook his head.  "No.  I know him."

"You knew him," Van Buren corrected him.

"What, you think he did it?"

She stared at the interrogation room for a while.  Finally, she shook her head.

===

There was silence in the room for a couple of minutes, as Green and Colton tried to figure out where to go from there.  Finally Curtis spoke up.

"Look, I get it, you're the bad cop and he's the good cop.  I used to do this too, remember?  Can you cut the crap?  I'd like to find out what happened to my mother just as much as you do.   I'm not trying to give you the runaround.  I want to cooperate."

"Oh, that's great, Rey.  It's so nice that you're willing to actually do something for the NYPD, after jacking off at your job for the last four years."

"John..." Green said chidingly.

"You cut the crap, Curtis.  We know the score here." Curtis looked up at him.  "You wanted to walk out on your family, but didn't want to leave them high and dry.  That insurance money - you could set up your wife and kids to be taken care of and move on.  I know I'd want to - no more laundry, or cooking, or any of that shit your wife is supposed to do.  I mean, how's it feel, being a big hombre who spends all his time wiping noses and changing diapers?  Huh?  And not even getting any from the wife?  Me I'd be getting out too."

"Fuck you," Curtis muttered, flushing darkly.

"Oooh, we struck a little nerve, there.  You wanted out, didn't you?  You wanted to be able to walk out on all of them, without any of that Catholic guilt."

"Fuck you!"

"Hey, hey, Rey, it's OK," Green said softly.

Curtis bit his lip and crossed his arms, trying to keep control.

"So, how long have you been thinking about getting out?  Come on, tell me you haven't thought about it.  It's only natural."

Curtis shook his head again and pressed his lips together.

"You used to have a bit of a temper, didn't you?  I heard about that.  Where is it now?" Colton taunted.

Curtis looked away.

"Oh that's right, you only beat up little girls now.  Big man.  Do ya hit your wife too, now that she's in a wheelchair and can't hit back?"

Curtis put his hand on his forehead, covering his eyes.  Colton reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand down, and sat on the table next to Curtis.  He leaned close, into Curtis' space.

"You hit her?" he asked in a dangerously low voice.

"No!" Curtis spat at him.

"You beat your kids?"

Curtis jerked his face away from Colton's.

"You do, don't you?"

"No."

"What about what the neighbours say?  They've seen you slap them.  Why have that guilty look on your face if you aren't abusing them?"

"Because-"

"Because what?!"

Green insinuated himself into the space between Curtis and Colton, and crouched down next to the chair, looking up at Curtis' face.  "Because what, Rey?"

"Because-" he looked at Colton, expecting more abuse, then back at Green when Green made an encouraging sound.  "Because... I may not be technically abusive but I'm not the kind of parent I should be, OK?" Green nodded, encouraging him to continue.  "Just - just because you're not hitting your kids hard enough to bruise them doesn't make it right."

"What are you doing that's not right?"  Green asked.

"I lose my temper with them, slap instead of just sending them to their room, I... I yell at them and say stuff I know hurts them, stuff I shouldn't say.  And, and I do the same with Deborah, yelling at her and saying things I shouldn't.  Just because it's not against the law doesn't make it right," his voice caught and he pressed his lips together.  He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

"Why don't you leave them, Rey?  If you're so miserable, why don't you leave them?" Green asked gently.

"None of your business," he forced out.

"Come on, man, why don't you leave her?" Colton challenged.  "And those kids.  That Serena, she's some piece of work.  I mean, your presence is obviously not doing her any good - she's probably going to end up in the joint just like you.  That other daughter of yours, the retard.  She's a real pride and joy, isn't she?  That's some reason to stick around.  And that wife, who just lies in bed all day - man, I'd be outta there so fast..."

"She's my wife.  They're my children.  That means something."

"She's not your wife, she's your patient," Colton pointed out.  Curtis winced.

"You took vows and that means something to you, right?" Green soothed.

"Yes."

"Yeah, means so much to you that you go and fuck the first pretty face you see," Colton laughed.

"Fuck you."

"Yeah.  You're into commitments, responsibility... that's why you couldn't even remember the name of the chick you had on Friday."

"Fuck you!"

"And as for taking an oath... I seem to remember that part of being a police officer involves upholding the law, or something, right?"

Curtis just looked at him sullenly.

"So... when did pot become legal?  I'm sorry I missed that announcement, or I woulda been celebrating.  Like you."

Curtis sighed wearily.  There was a pause.  Colton sat back down in his chair, leaned back, and cocked his head at Curtis.  "You know," he said jovially, "your wife didn't look too happy when I went out for coffee just now.  We let her read the statement your girlfriend made.  I don't know if you know, but that girl was happy to describe everything you two did in in-ti-mate detail."  Curtis flinched.  Colton noticed, and leaned in with a smile.  "Said you were pretty good in the sack, for whatever that's worth.  Oh, no, you two didn't make it to the sack - you were on her couch, weren't you?  You think your wife liked reading about lovely Rita giving you a blow job at the bar - hey Ed, isn't that Public Lewdness? - and you going down on her back at her place, and then the two of you-"

"Nice try, dickhead, except my wife can't read," Curtis interrupted him tiredly, though his face had darkened during Colton's recitation.

The two detectives looked at each other, momentarily confused.  "Beg pardon?" asked Green.

"She's got MS.  Her eyes are screwed up right now.  She can't focus on letters, she can't read."

"She can't read, can't walk, can't take care of the kids, can't fuck - what the hell can she do, Rey?  Why are you still with her?"

"Oh good, back to this again," Curtis leaned his head back on the chair and rubbed his shoulder.

"Hey!  You don't get to relax in here!" Colton kicked the leg of Curtis' chair, jolting him.  Curtis looked at him warily.

"So, you think maybe I should read Rita's report to your wife?  See what she thinks?"

Curtis bit his lip and looked away, humiliation plain on his face.

"I'm talking to you!" Colton shoved his face back into Curtis' space.  Curtis crossed his arms, setting his jaw and refusing to meet Colton's eyes.

"You know, maybe we should charge you with Public Lewdness, just for the fun of it.  I mean, Rita's already admitted to the bar thing... what about you?  You remember that part, or is that also part of your alcoholic amnesia?"

"I remember," Curtis muttered.

"I didn't quite hear you.  What exactly do you remember?"

"I remember," he repeated, more loudly.  Colton put a hand under his chin, forcing his face up, and raised his eyebrows, waiting for the rest.  "I remember.  She - she went down on me at the bar.  Happy?" he said quickly, his face dark, shame and self-disgust written over every feature.

"We could just forget about it, if you co-operate."

"Right, I'm gonna cop to a murder I didn't commit to avoid the consequences of a misdemeanor I did commit," he blew out his breath in frustration. "The hell with you.  Read the report to my wife, if that's how you get your sick jollies.  Read it out loud at my church while you're at it.  Charge me with Public Lewdness, I'll plead guilty.  I thought you were Homicide, not Vice.  Fucking sadist."

"Do you need a break?" Green asked unexpectedly.

Colton and Curtis looked up at Green, startled.

"Let's take a break, John."  They filed out.

===

"John, I think you better back off," said Green once they were in the observation room.

"What?!  Why?" Colton was incredulous.

"I... I think you're going a bit too hard on him.  What he did with that woman... that has nothing to do with the case.  Same with his wife's condition and their sex life.  You're just using it to embarrass him."

"No shit, Eddie.  We use whatever we have, shake up the suspect, get them angry.  Christ, he killed his mother - you think he'll admit to it if I just offer him tea and biscuits and ask him nicely?  What's the matter with you?"

Briscoe cleared his throat. "I think Ed's right."

Colton turned on him, jabbing a finger at him.  "You aren't part of this case, because you can't be objective.  He was your partner, OK, I understand you don't wanna think he'd do anything like this, but try to remember he's a suspect.  Our chief suspect."  Colton looked from Green to Briscoe, then turned to Van Buren.  "What, do you think I'm going too rough?  You're the one who OK'd his arrest."

Van Buren shook her head.  She looked at the interrogation room, where Curtis was resting with his head pillowed on his arms on the table.  "John, he worked here.  He was a good cop.  I can't..."

Colton slammed his hand against the wall.  "Look, while you're all feeling sorry for Rey Curtis, try to remember that we're here because of Estela Curtis.  She didn't do anything wrong, and she was killed by her own son for her insurance money."  He paused, took a hold of himself, and chose his next words carefully.  "I think if this is how you people are going to be we should move this investigation to another precinct.  You're all too close; you are not being objective.  If it was anybody in there other than Curtis, you'd be cheering what I'm doing."  He paused again.  "His privacy has been shattered.  He feels violated, upset, angry and humiliated.  That's _good_.  If he's rattled enough he'll let something slip.  Basic interrogation procedure."

There was another pause, and Briscoe cleared his throat.  "Look, you're right, I shouldn't be part of this.  Do you mind if I go in there for a minute while you all figure out what you're gonna do?"

Van Buren nodded.  As Briscoe entered the interrogation room, Curtis raised his head and looked at him warily.

"Relax. I'm not here to interrogate you.  I'm not on the case."

"Y-yeah," Curtis' voice was unsteady.

"Don't say anything you don't want heard, though."

"Yeah."  Curtis stood up and moved to the window.  They were quiet for a few minutes.

"You were in the observation room?"  Briscoe nodded and Curtis looked away.  He leaned his back against the wall, grateful for the chance to get out of the chair after so long.  "They're pretty good.  I almost feel like making something up just to get them off my back."

"You could always ask for a lawyer."

"I know.  I just - I wanna cooperate.  If there's anything I remember that could help, I want to help.  But god, I'm tired.  And they're not asking anything about anything, other than stuff to make me confess to something I didn't do.  I know, I know, that's their job...  but I'm getting the urge to track down and apologize to every suspect we ever grilled like this who turned out to be innocent."

Briscoe chuckled.  Curtis cleared his throat and looked at him.  "Lennie.  What's gonna happen to my kids?  What's gonna happen to Deborah?" he asked softly.

"Your kids are with foster care for the night.  Deborah's probably going with Social Services, they'll find a temporary nursing home.  Your sister's coming in tomorrow, so maybe something can be worked out with her."

Curtis nodded sadly.  "Thanks."  He cleared his throat.  "Do you think I might be able to call them?  I'll be in lock-up tonight, right?  And bail hearing tomorrow."

"Yeah, probably.  I'll follow up what's happening to them as soon as you're done here.  I'll see about you contacting them.  Unless you want me to do that now."

"I don't know-"

The door slammed open and Colton and Green came back in.  "You done?" Colton asked Briscoe rudely.  Briscoe narrowed his eyes but merely nodded, giving Curtis an encouraging look as he left.  Colton sat himself down again.

"So let's start again.  You have no idea how the Methotrexate got into your mother's possession."

"No, I don't."

"Who filled Deborah's prescriptions?"

"Probably me.  My sister might have filled that one, but I doubt it."

"Who gives her the drugs?"

"I do, or Olivia does."

"Where did you keep them?"

"Medicine cabinet in the kitchen."

"Don't you keep drugs in the washroom?"

"They don't all fit.  Pills go in the kitchen and syringes go in the washroom.  Some of Deborah's drugs are IV drugs."

"Who gives her those?"

"I do or she gives them to herself, depending on what kind of injection she needs."

"Ever take some of the needles for yourself, Rey?  You got any other recreational habits we should know about?"

"No."

"Right," Colton snorted.

"I couldn't afford it even if I wanted to," Curtis snapped, annoyed.

"Do ya want to, Rey?"

Curtis expelled his breath.

"You know what you need to tell us," Green said.

"Ask me anything relevant and I'll answer.  I'm not trying to dodge anything."

"How about you tell us what happened last Friday, again," Green said encouragingly.

"Again?  I can't tell you anything new.  I don't know what happened to my mother."  The detectives looked at him expectantly and he sighed and began again, saying the words almost by rote.  "I went out at 7:30, got to Rosario's around 8, met Rita Johannes, left for her place about half an hour later, we had sex, smoked pot, she says I left around 10 and I have no reason to believe that's not true, then I walked around.  I came home at 1:30 to find you at my mother's house.  That's all I know."

"And you don't remember where you went, for three hours.  No recollection of what you were doing while your mother was dying.  Nobody saw you," Colton said mockingly.

"I was drunk and high, I told you that already.  I'd had about eight beers and two or three joints.  I have a vague memory of going into a church, probably my own, on 58th street.  I think I was at a park for a while.  I may even have gone into another bar, I don't know.  Other than that, no, I don't know."

"So how do you know you didn't go to your mother's place?"

"Because I wanted to get away from everything - my family, my home, all of it.  I wouldn't have gone back home.  Besides... I uh, I never go home until I know the alcohol is out of my system enough that I won't throw up at home or pass out where the kids will see me the next morning."

"Very considerate of you," Colton sneered.

"Yeah, I'm the father of the year," Curtis said bitterly. Colton smirked.

"So what happened while you were 'walking around'?"

"I don't know.  I don't remember."

"'Course you do.  You just don't wanna say."

"I was drunk!  I was stoned outta my mind!!  I don't remember!  I wish I did, but I don't and there's nothing I can do about it!!  And you asking me for the next two days isn't going to change that!!"  He slammed his chair back and started to stand up.  Colton grabbed his shoulder, forcing him back down and getting in his face.  Curtis glared back at Colton, fists clenched and chest heaving with frustration and anger.

Briscoe left the observation room, unable to watch any more.  He got a cup of coffee and thought about what was going on in the interrogation room.  Every instinct he had told him that Curtis had nothing to do with his mother's death... but years of experience putting together clues pointed straight at him.  And it wasn't a pretty picture.  The conservative, clean-cut young detective and family man he had worked with would have been horrified to know that some day a good night would consist of getting drunk and stoned, getting a blow job at a bar, having anonymous sex and then wandering around in a haze until he could go home without throwing up or passing out.

===

When he went back into the room an hour later, the tableau had changed slightly.  Curtis still sat in the same place, Colton had retreated to the window, and Green was sitting next to Curtis, invading his personal space but speaking quietly and sympathetically.

"Rey, nobody doubts that you've done the best you could.  But... nobody can do it all, man.  Lennie told me you're a real stand-up guy, one of the best detectives he ever worked with.  He couldn't believe you had anything to do with your mom's death.  But he can't believe the changes in you, man.  You... you've gone through some hard times since you worked the 2-7.  You're backed into a corner, you're broke and exhausted and one more sick person to take care of was too much.  We all get that."

Curtis's elbows were on the table, his hands clasped in front of his face.  He leaned his forehead against his hands and closed his eyes.  Green continued to talk to him softly, and Curtis slowly opened his eyes and blinked, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn.

"Are you falling asleep on us?  Are you?!" Colton asked incredulously, taking two quick strides and slamming his hand on the table next to Curtis.  Curtis jumped slightly, and looked away from the face looming back at him.

"I'm sorry, OK?  I've been up since 5am," Curtis mumbled.

Colton kicked Curtis' chair again.  "Yeah, poor Rey.  You're a useless piece of crap, Curtis!"

Curtis put his head back in his hands and said, "I'm sorry.  I want to help.  But we've been here three hours and I... I can't take this any more."  He took a deep breath.  "I want a lawyer."

Green and Colton looked at each other and nodded.  Without another word, they left the room.

Van Buren stood at the doorway.  "Do you have your lawyer's phone number handy, Rey?"

Curtis looked up at her sadly, then shook his head.  "I can't afford one.  I'll need a court-appointed PD."

Van Buren opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something to him.  Then she closed her mouth, nodded at him, and left.

Curtis stared at the tabletop for a minute, then folded his arms on the table and lay his head down.  Within minutes he was asleep.

===

_Friday, October 3  
10:37am_

"Your Honor, the People request that bail be set at $500,000," said ADA Southerlyn.

"That's a little high.  The defendant has strong roots in the community and no criminal record-" countered Mike Taylor, Curtis' PD.

"The charge is murder, Your Honor."

"$500,000 is a bit high.  Bail is set at $200,000."

"My client doesn't have access to that kind of money - "

"That's what bail bondsmen are for, Mr. Taylor."

"People further request that Mr. Curtis' children be held in foster care for the duration of the trial."

"Your Honor, that's hardly fair-"

"The defendant has been charged with killing his own mother.  He is a risk to his family.  The children's mother is severely disabled and unable to care for them herself.  The interests of the children must be protected."

"Mr. Taylor?"

"Your Honor, Mr. Curtis' four children are being held in foster care for the moment, which is traumatic enough following the death of their grandmother.  They are in four separate homes at a time when they need their family the most.  There has been no history of child abuse or neglect - in fact, Mr. Curtis has sacrificed a great deal in order to take care of them, and there is no indication that he has been anything but an excellent parent-"

"Other than the fact that his ten-year old was arrested for selling cocaine at her school," Southerlyn countered.

"That does make me a little suspicious of his parenting abilities.  Request for continued foster care is granted, pending a review by Child Social Services.  Mr. Curtis is free to go once bail is arranged."

===

_Monday, October 6  
11:32am_

McCoy and Southerlyn viewed the videotape of Emil Skoda's interview with Rey Curtis.  McCoy was struck by the changes in Curtis: the quiet, hesitant, tired voice, the downcast eyes, the sad, shamed expression.  The hopelessness he projected during the interview was almost palpable.

"So, what do you think?  Do you think he killed his mother?"

"The man I knew four years ago, no, never.  This guy, I'm not sure but I gotta tell you, my gut tells me no." McCoy raised his eyebrows at Skoda.

"It doesn't seem like he's capable of feeling any positive emotions any more.  Just about the only things he's felt in a long time have been sadness, shame and exhaustion.  He's too tired to do anything about his situation.  He's not even trying to find a way out - just pushing himself through day by day.  Maybe if she'd died falling down the stairs, that would be one thing.  He could have snapped and pushed her, but... premeditated, feeding her pills, getting her to change her will?  I don't see it.  That requires planning and forethought.  He's not capable of that any more."

"You're not giving us much diagnostic help here.  You're just talking about feelings."

"Yeah, well.  I can tell you this much - he is suffering from clinical depression.  And I'm sure his wife is, too."

"Do you think he's suicidal?"  McCoy asked.

"Maybe.  He feels that he's failed everybody - his wife, his children, himself, the Church..."

Southerlyn got them back on track.  "So if you're asked to testify..."

"I can't tell you he did it.  I can't give you any diagnosis other than clinical depression."

"Your report's going to Social Services too, right?  Are you going to recommend that his children be returned?"

"I'm going to recommend they're returned providing he gets treatment for his depression.  With a strong recommendation that he also get some kind of support, help with their care.  I don't think he's a threat to them, but he does need help."

Southerlyn shrugged and began to get up, satisfied that the DA's part in this was done.  McCoy remained where he was, thoughtful.

"Do you think he'd accept help?" he asked Skoda.

"If he could think to ask for it, yes."

"Rey's always been pretty proud..."

"Not any more.  Now he's just tired.  Honestly, I don't think he's capable of murder at this point in his life.  He's suffering from isolation, exhaustion, severe depression.  What he needs is counseling, support, and anti-depressants.  Instead he's got a priest who tells him that this is all part of God's plan and probably his fault anyway.  He needs help."

===

_Tuesday, October 7  
9:03am_

"Arthur, can I talk to you for a minute?" McCoy appeared at Arthur Branch's door.

"Sure, Jack."  Branch put down the report he was reading.

"It's about the Curtis case."

"Yes?"

"I'm going to ask you to take me off it."

"Excuse me?" Branch gave McCoy his full attention. "It could be a capital case!"

"I know.  I just don't think I can do it."  McCoy smiled at Branch as he stared at McCoy skeptically.

"Because you worked with Curtis before?  That's not like you, Jack.  You've prosecuted friends of yours, even put them behind bars.  Besides, I didn't think you were that close to Curtis."

"I wasn't.  It's not that.  I've been talking to Lennie Briscoe and Emil Skoda, and it's made me think."  McCoy walked around to the window. "I can't prosecute him.  I knew him when he was in Homicide, and he was... he was a good cop.  Honest.  Very ethical, to a point where it really pissed me off sometimes.  I just can't believe he'd do this, and I don't think I'd do a good job trying to prosecute him because I don't believe he could be guilty.  Let Serena do it."

"OK... I have to admit, this is a little surprising to me."

McCoy smiled, a little surprised at himself.

===

_Tuesday, October 7  
4:45pm_

"Hello, Rey," McCoy began, trying not to show his shock at the appearance of the man in front of him, even after having seen him in the video.  In prison garb, he resembled nothing like the man McCoy had worked with so many years ago.

"What are you doing here?  Don't I need my lawyer present if you're gonna interrogate me?"

"Actually, I'm not going to be the prosecutor for your case.  I begged off," McCoy grinned at Curtis' skeptical expression.  "As a matter of fact, I'm here to offer to handle your defense."

Curtis stared at him, nonplussed.  "I've got a lawyer," he stated flatly.

"Yes, Mr. Taylor, a court-appointed public defender who's right out of law school and so overworked he'll have no time to give you a real defense."

"I can't afford a real lawyer," Curtis retorted.

"I'll do it pro-bono, then."

"Charity?  From Jack McCoy?"

"Call it a favour for a friend.  Besides, it might not be such a favour, since I'm not terribly familiar with defense.  I might forget which side I'm working for."

"Seems a strange time to make friends.  We were never friends before."

"So now's a good time to start." McCoy paused for a moment.  "Lennie says your bail's finally been arranged."

Curtis looked away.  After a moment, McCoy asked, "Rey?"

"Yeah."

"You can leave today."

"Yeah, OK."  He didn't seem to be paying much attention to McCoy.  Then he turned and focused on him.  "I just... I've spent the last few days in lock-up, in the Isolation Unit 'cause I'm a cop, and it's been... interesting.  Never thought I'd get to look at it from the inside.  It's not fun.  Too much time to think."  He smiled slightly.  "I hope you're as good at defense as you are at prosecution.  I'd hate to spend the rest of my life in here."

===

_Tuesday, October 7  
6:45pm_

After his release, Curtis, Briscoe and McCoy met at McCoy's apartment.  McCoy quickly ran over the few facts of the case that Briscoe hadn't been able to fill him in on.  When they were done, he outlined some of what he had been able to find out from his end, including Skoda's thoughts on the interview and the fact that he would probably call upon Skoda as a defense witness.  Curtis listened expressionlessly, not offering any commentary of his own.  McCoy then paused before broaching a more personal subject.

"Rey, the first thing you need to do is go on anti-depressants.  Emil Skoda wrote a prescription for you.  He says you should start as soon as possible."

Curtis looked at him in surprise.  "What are you, my lawyer or my shrink?" He blew out his breath scornfully.  "Anti-depressants.  Great. That'll fix everything.  Is a pill going to convince a jury I didn't kill my own mother?"

"No, but it will put you in a better position to help me convince them.  I don't know yet if I want you to take the stand in your own defense but I know I can't if you're like this.  You don't see yourself.  I believe you're not guilty, but the jury won't.  You look like hell."

"Thanks, McCoy, I feel like hell," Curtis shot back, annoyed.  "It may have something to do with being accused of my mother's murder and being kept away from my wife and family."

"You felt like hell before the arrest."

"Is an anti-depressant gonna make my wife get better, or make Tania normal?  Is it gonna help Serena behave if I'm drugged?"

"No, but it will help you to be able to cope better.  Look, you're in almost an impossible situation.  One family member disabled is bad enough, but you have two.  That puts an enormous strain on any person, any marriage, any family.  You're fighting against enough in your life without also fighting against a chemical imbalance that is not your fault.  Please."

Curtis looked down at the tabletop, pressing his lips together.

"Taking an anti-depressant is not a sign of weakness," McCoy pointed out.  Curtis rubbed his forehead, resisting the idea.  "If you won't take it for yourself, take it for your children.  I read the preliminary reports from Child Social Services.  Your children said you aren't abusive, but they said you're always exhausted and irritable.  They haven't seen you laugh or enjoy life in months.  That's not healthy for them.  You're doing your best, but you can't continue like this.  It's not fair to your children and it's not fair to you," McCoy was at his most persuasive.

"Besides, you need to show Social Services that you're trying to get back on your feet," Briscoe added.  "Odds are, you'll get your kids back soon anyway 'cause there's no evidence of abuse.  But you're charged with murder.  They might not wanna release your kids to you if they're nervous about you, about your state of mind."

"Fine," Curtis gave in wearily.

Briscoe and McCoy traded relieved looks.  Briscoe picked up the prescription and scanned through the drug lit Skoda had provided.  "Says it'll take about three to six weeks before you can tell if it's working.  Side effects...  sleepy and lethargic for the first few days... yadda yadda yadda... whoa, you probably shouldn't be alone for the first few days in case you pass out or something.  You better come stay with me... don't drive, don't operate heavy machinery... metallic taste, slight headache, nausea, decreased libido..."

"That's not such a bad thing," Curtis said bitterly.  "What the hell, if I can't have it, may as well not want it, right?"  His voice was dull.

"Rey..."

"Lennie, it's just a joke.  Gimme a break, OK?  Quit looking at me like you think I'm gonna fall apart any second, you're not my mother," Curtis closed his mouth as soon he spoke, grimacing at his own words.  There was an awkward pause.  "Sorry.  That was in pretty poor taste.  I keep forgetting she's dead.  Or maybe I just don't want to remember."  He picked up the prescription.  "Well, OK, if you don't have any other legal advice for me, we might as well go get this filled."

===

_Wednesday, October 8  
2:27pm_

Curtis lay on Briscoe's couch, listlessly watching a football game on TV.  He had taken the medication the night before and it had indeed made him sleepy and lethargic, so much so that he had slept through the night and most of the day.  Briscoe had gone to work in the morning and returned in the afternoon to find Curtis still asleep, although he'd woken up soon after Briscoe's return.  Now he lay, still dressed in the same worn grey t-shirt and faded jeans he'd worn the day before, trying to work up the energy to get up and change.

"What time is it?" he asked groggily.

"About 2:30."

"How come you're home?"

"Ed's got the flu.  I got a pretty easy caseload till he gets back - mostly desk duty."

"Oh."

"How are you feeling?"

Curtis didn't answer.

"Rey?"

"Like hell," was the laconic answer.

Briscoe got himself a drink, returned to the living room and sat down on the easy chair next to the couch.  He looked at Curtis' profile on the couch next to him.

"Feel like talking?"

"No."

They watched the game for a while.  Out of the blue, Curtis said slowly, "I think... it's been almost two years since I watched sports.  I never noticed."

"Long time."

"Yeah.  I don't know half the players."

Twenty minutes later, another sound bite.

"I don't think I've slept the whole night through in a few years either."

"You have trouble sleeping?"

"Yeah."

"What keeps you awake?"

"Work and the baby, mostly." He thought for a moment. "Sometimes guilt over screwing around on Deborah, or yelling at the kids.  Sometimes I worry about Deborah, or Tania, or Serena, or about how the hell I'm gonna feed everybody, pay for everyone's meds."

Briscoe waited for a while, but nothing else seemed forthcoming.  Finally he said, "Speaking of feeding, I'm gonna get something to eat.  You want anything?"

"Nah."

Briscoe frowned.  "It's 3:30.  Have you eaten anything since last night?"

Curtis continued to watch the screen.  "Ummm... no, I don't think so."

Briscoe regarded the thin frame, the shoulder blades and ribs visible through Curtis' t-shirt. "Aren't you hungry?"

"No."

"Eat anyway."

"Don't, OK?  Don't nursemaid me."

"Rey, how much do you weigh?"

"What?" Curtis glanced back at him.  "How the hell should I know?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"You look like you've lost a hell of a lot of weight.  Don't you ever eat?"

"Of course I eat," he turned back to the screen.

"When, once a week?"

"I don't know, whenever I'm hungry and have the time.  Why?" Curtis was starting to get annoyed.

"Skoda said your lack of appetite was a sign of clinical depression."

"Thanks, Doc."

"Didn't you notice you were losing weight?"

"I had other things on my mind, Lennie."

"Sorry."  Briscoe got up to get himself a sandwich, hesitated for a moment, then made two.  He came back to the couch and deposited the second plate on the coffee table.  "Sit up.  Eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Force yourself."

Curtis gave him an exasperated look, but sat up and started to eat half-heartedly.  Partway through the sandwich, he said, "This is pretty good."

"Now I know you're depressed.  You never liked anything I called food before."  Curtis gave him a slight smile.  He paused and looked around thoughtfully.

"This feels really weird.  Disorienting.  I keep expecting somebody to need help with their homework or fight over their dolls or something."

"Can't help you with the dolls, but I do have a case I could use some help with..." Briscoe joked.

"Yeah, wouldn't that go over great.  Not only having a murder suspect out on bail staying at your apartment, but helping you with your cases.  I don't think so," he shook his head ruefully.

Briscoe frowned, sensing that Curtis's off-the-cuff remark and casual tone hid more than it revealed.

"Sorry.  That wasn't real sensitive of me," he offered.

"What?"

"What I said.  About my case."

"Oh."  Curtis's attention seemed to wander back to the game, the conversation and the half-eaten sandwich forgotten.  Briscoe mentally shrugged and went back to watching the game.

"Wish I could see my kids," Curtis mentioned about half an hour later.  Briscoe looked at him.  He'd stayed on the couch, one leg drawn up to his chin, arms clasped around the leg.  He stared at the screen, but Briscoe could see that the game had lost his interest.  Lousy game anyway.

"You'll see them on Friday."

"Yeah," Curtis replied without much enthusiasm.  Briscoe wondered at himself.  He was pretty good at getting suspects to talk - whether he played the bad guy, prodding them into blurting out what they wanted to hide, or whether he played the good guy, convincing them that he would be able to understand what they wanted to share.  But here he was, not making any headway getting a friend who obviously needed help to open up.  The problem was, he couldn't treat Curtis like a suspect, but he didn't have much experience getting regular people to confide in him.  He suddenly felt sick of the whole situation, and blew out his breath in frustration.

"What?" Curtis drew away from the screen long enough to meet his eyes.

"I..." Briscoe didn't know what to say.  He gave himself a mental shake, and went for straightforward.  "I was just thinking, I can only get people to talk to me when I think they're guilty of something.  I told my daughter once that I'm used to people already being dead before I have anything to do with them.  Live people, I'm not so good at."

Curtis thought that over for a moment.  "I guess I should thank you for the vote of confidence."

"Don't thank me.  Talk to me."

"Why?  What do you want me to say?"

"Anything!  You-" Briscoe stopped, exasperated.  "Ah, never mind," he muttered, disgusted with himself.

"I'm sorry," Curtis said softly.  His voice was low and he turned his face back to the screen. "I guess... I thought you already knew everything, I mean you watched during the interrogation, you know everything I know.  You know everything I did that night.  I don't have anything else to say."

"I'm not asking about the case.  You're... remember once we were in the car, and you were looking for a place to stay 'cause you and Deborah were separating, I told you I'd been down that road before a couple times, if you wanted to talk.  That's all."

"You been a murder suspect before, Lennie?" Curtis' voice was still soft, the tone he had often used with small children or victims' families... or suspects he wanted to lull into a false sense of security.  Briscoe shivered a little, hearing it directed at himself.  "Gee, there's so much about you I didn't know."

"Rey-"

"Shut up!"  Curtis was suddenly angry.  "You don't know what I'm going through!  You don't know what it's like to know your kids are in foster care because somebody's afraid you're gonna hurt them - what it's like to be interrogated, have every goddamn stupid, shameful thing you've done thrown in your face - you don't know!  Leave me alone!"

He stood up, then his face paled, and he swayed and steadied himself on the side of the couch.  Briscoe got up quickly, concerned. "Are you OK?"

"Y-yeah-" Curtis shook his head, blinking rapidly and gripping the couch.  Briscoe steadied him.

"Hey, easy, easy, the drug lit said you might have problems at first if you get up too fast-"

"Yeah, yeah," Curtis tried to focus his eyes, fighting sudden nausea. "I - oh shit, I think I'm gonna be sick-" Briscoe quickly shoved him down onto the couch, pushing his head down between his knees and grabbing a trash can.  Curtis' throat worked as he swallowed over and over again, fighting to keep his stomach from heaving.

"OK... OK... I'm OK, I'm not gonna throw up," he whispered.  Briscoe nodded but kept the trash can where it was.  Minutes later, Curtis sat up shakily.  "I'm OK," he looked at Briscoe.  "Really."

Briscoe held his gaze until Curtis dropped his eyes again.  He chose his words carefully.  "Look, you're right, I don't know what you're going through.  But I wanna help.  How many times do you want me to say that?"

Curtis rubbed his forehead.  "There's nothing you can do.  Talking doesn't make any difference, it just makes me think about it, and I really, really try to avoid that."

Briscoe opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say.  After a moment, Curtis continued.  "I told you.  I told you everything.  My life's fallen apart and I don't even know which part of it is the worst; whether it's Tania, or Deborah, or Serena, or the - the goddam mountain of crap I have to do every day, or the fact that I'm not doing any of it right, or... or the fact that we don't have any money left, or that none of that is gonna get any better," his words picked up speed as everything tumbled out at once, "or my mother dying or being arrested or realizing that I might never be with my kids again if I get convicted or, or knowing that maybe they'll even be better off in foster homes than with me, because I'm not - I'm not the person I used to be, and, and Deborah-" suddenly his eyes filled with tears and he stopped.  His forehead creased in pain as he fought for distance from everything he had just blurted out.  He rubbed his forehead with a shaking hand.  Finally he cleared his throat and spoke in a hoarse, empty tone. "Thinking about shit like this is why I turned in my service revolver about a year ago.  I'm in admin now, I don't need it, and I just couldn't have the temptation there."

Briscoe felt a chill settle through his whole body.  He searched for the right words to say, to not shut the floodgates.  "You... the temptation?  To use it?"

Curtis nodded slowly.  He closed his eyes tightly and the tears spilled down.  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, covering his eyes with one hand.  His lips pressed together, jaw trembling with suppressed sobs.  He whispered brokenly, "I wanted to... I want to, so badly.  I just want all of it to end, but it would only end for me, you know?  I couldn't - I couldn't leave my kids to deal with it, I couldn't leave Deborah to deal with it if - if I ate my own gun-" his voice broke.

Briscoe covered his mouth with his hand.  The only sound was Curtis' labored breathing as he tried to keep some shred of control.  Finally Briscoe put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Let it go."

Curtis shook his head, trembling.  Briscoe repeated himself.  "Let it go.  It's OK, Rey."  A sob tore from Curtis' throat, and he covered his face with his hands as his shoulders heaved.  He cried bitterly, his whole body shaking as he finally gave in to his grief.  Briscoe remained still, gripping Curtis' shoulder, staying through the pain and allowing Curtis time to deal with it.  He thought about how long Curtis had had to deal with all of this on his own, and how miserable he must have been to consider suicide as an option.  Remembering his battle with the bottle and his own failed marriages, he recalled the feelings of hopelessness and wondered how he could have allowed himself to drift away, to not know that Curtis was feeling the same despair.

A long time later, the weeping finally began to die down.  Curtis had crossed his arms together, elbows resting on his knees and face hidden by his arms, and his body continued shaking as he slowly calmed down.  Finally he was still, the silence in the room broken only by occasional soft shuddering breaths, the aftermath of the storm that had just passed.

Briscoe squeezed his shoulder and got up, going in to the bathroom and returning with a wet facecloth.  He sat back down and touched Curtis' shoulder again, handing him the facecloth when he finally looked up.  Curtis wiped his face slowly.  Briscoe cleared his throat.

"Feel any better?"  Curtis glanced at him quickly, then away again.  He shrugged.

"I feel like crap," he rasped, his throat raw.  "But yeah, a bit better."  He bit his lip.  "Thanks."  Briscoe nodded.

"How long you been holding that in?"

"What?"

"Have you ever talked to anyone about wanting to commit suicide?"  Curtis shook his head vehemently, not meeting his eyes.  "Your wife?  Your priest?  Your mother?" Curtis continued to shake his head.  "Why not?"

"How could I tell Deborah?  And Father Morelli and my mother - they'd just say it's a sin."  He took a deep, shuddering breath.  "I didn't want to admit to anybody... I couldn't."

"Couldn't even let it go and cry?"

"I... I thought if I did, I'd never stop," he admitted almost inaudibly.

"Well, you did," Briscoe pointed out.  Curtis smiled slightly, still not meeting his eyes.  "Rey, you don't need to be embarrassed."  Curtis shrugged and looked away.  "Everybody's got a breaking point.  We all hope we never reach it.  Some of us just aren't so lucky."  Briscoe paused, then decided maybe Curtis needed a bit of space.

"You... uh, you gonna finish that sandwich?"  Curtis looked down at the coffee table, surprised to see the sandwich still there.

"Uh, no, I think I really would throw up.  No offense to your cooking, I just feel kinda shaky.  Nauseous.  Actually, I can't believe this, but what I really feel is tired.  Again."

"You expected that though."

"I can't live like this if this stuff is gonna make me want to sleep all day."

"That's just supposed to be during the adjustment period.  You want I should leave you alone so you can sleep some more?"

Curtis finally met his gaze, eyes reddened, body still shuddering occasionally.  Briscoe was struck once more by the sadness and resignation in his eyes.  "Yeah, I wouldn't mind that.  Sorry."

"Hey, you know, I do have a bed, I could take the couch if you want."

"Nah, I haven't slept in a bed in a couple years."  Briscoe raised his eyebrows questioningly. "I couldn't, not after Deborah and me stopped - it was just, you know, I preferred to not be tempted.  I moved to the couch in the living room."

"Rey... you gotta talk to somebody about that."

"I do, my priest."

"I mean a shrink."

"I can't afford that," he said flatly.

Briscoe hesitated, then plunged in, "I just don't see what kind of practical advice a priest can give you on your love life.  Other than Thou Shalt Not.  Which might be easy for him to say, but it's killing you."

Curtis cocked his head to the side, face expressionless, waiting for Briscoe to finish.  When Briscoe stopped talking, he began, his barriers lowered enough to talk haltingly through the embarrassment.  "Lennie... there's just not much to talk about.  There's not much to do about it, either.  She's got MS.  One of the things that goes is sex drive.  She just doesn't want to.  And it... would be painful for her.  She can't force herself, and - I mean, this isn't the Middle Ages where it was a wife's duty to just lie still and think of England.  I - I don't want her that way.  That's no better than rape.  I may be far gone but I'm not a rapist."

Briscoe scowled.  "So that's it?  You sleep on the couch, you want her but you don't even touch her, once a month you pick up a stranger at a bar and then you feel guilty about it for the rest of the month?  That's your sex life from now on?"

Curtis flushed and dropped his gaze.  "What do you suggest?" He stood up, slowly this time, and moved away from the couch.

"I dunno.  There's gotta be something else though.  How much did you and your priest talk about it?"

"Not a lot.  I don't really... it's not something I'm comfortable with, OK?  Even this much is kinda freaking me out.  We're talking about my private life here."  He crossed his arms, looking away.

"Do you and Deborah know other couples dealing with MS?"

"No."

"You might wanna start there.  I mean, support groups can help."

"Sure," Curtis shrugged, obviously not sold on the idea.

"I'm talking from experience here, remember?  There's a reason AA works.  It helps to talk to people who know where you're coming from.  And you gotta know you can't be the only guy who's had a tough time getting thrown outta his wife's bed."  Curtis shrugged, looking away from him.  "Maybe there's something you two could do to make things better.  At least something different from what you're doing, 'cause that's not working."

"Maybe."  Curtis shook his head and said, "I'm - I'm sorry, but I really can't... this is too weird.  I can't just calmly discuss my sex life with you.  It's private - you don't know how damned humiliating it is to me that you know about Rita, and the - the blow job at the bar, and all that," he blushed again.  "Catholic upbringing."

"I don't think any less of you for what you did at the bar."

"I think less of myself," Curtis said, his voice low.

"Hey, I've done worse."

"I'll take your word for it."  He ran his fingers through his hair and changed the subject.  "I'm gonna take a shower and go back to sleep, OK?"

"Sure.  You sure you don't wanna eat before you do?"

"Uh - probably after I shower, my stomach will have calmed down.  Ask me later, OK?"

"Sure."  Curtis grabbed a towel from the linen closet and went to the washroom.  Briscoe returned to the kitchen to get another snack, but turned when he heard Curtis clear his throat behind him.  Curtis stood at the entrance to the kitchen, fiddling with his wedding band and staring at the floor, looking, in other words, like someone who had something to say but didn't have the slightest clue of how to say it.

"Lennie..." Curtis met his eyes briefly, smiled uncertainly, looked away.  "Um... I just... I just wanted to say thanks for, uh, you know, for being there.  For taking me in and, and letting me talk.  I - I'm not real good at this," he fidgeted a bit more.  Briscoe waited patiently.  "I mostly, um, I mostly don't think it helps much to dwell on stuff that isn't going to change, but... but it's good to know I can if I want to."

"Any time," Briscoe said.  Curtis nodded.  He turned to go, then stopped and turned back.

"Do you mind if I, if I ask a personal question?" he blurted out.

"Shoot."

"Did you, I mean, when, when you were - when you were an alcoholic and going through all that, did you ever... did you ever think of..."

"Suicide?" Briscoe asked.

"Yeah," Curtis nodded, relieved.

Briscoe thought back to those years.  "Yeah.  Some."

"Why didn't you do it?"

Briscoe shook his head.  "I'm not really sure.  Dumb luck.  AA had a lot to do with it.  Talking helps, but it's not so easy for guys to admit they need to."

Curtis nodded.  "Yeah.  This is really uncomfortable."

"So are a lot of medical procedures that can also save your life," Briscoe pointed out.

"Yeah.  I guess so," Curtis smiled slightly.  He turned and went to the washroom.

Briscoe took a deep breath.  He didn't know what he had expected when he had asked McCoy to handle Curtis' defense, and when he offered to put up Curtis for a few days.  He had the feeling they were all in for a rough time.  But at least Curtis was talking - hesitant, ashamed, but talking.  Maybe if he and McCoy could keep him talking, they could figure out a way to help him.

===

**Author's Notes for legal eagles:** No, it's not legally or ethically possible for Jack, an Executive Assistant District Attorney, to act as a defense attorney even if he wanted to.  It's called suspension of disbelief :)


	3. Out on Bail

**Chapter 3: Out On Bail**

Disclaimer: Not mine, Dick Wolf's.  No permission, no profit, no money, yadda yadda.

_Friday, October 10, 2003  
3:45 pm_

"Rey.  Relax," Briscoe said for the third time.  He and Curtis were in Central Park, waiting for Deborah to be brought to meet them by the nursing home.  The judge had stated that Curtis could be allowed to visit with his family twice a week 'pending an evaluation by Social Services,' and this was the first such visit.  She had also decreed that because of the nature of the crime that Curtis was charged with, these visits should be supervised.  Briscoe had qualified as a suitable chaperone in the eyes of the court.

So now he was sitting on a bench near one of the entrances to Central Park, and Curtis was leaning on a low wall.  Curtis had read a plaque, paced a bit, drummed his fingers on the wall, re-read the plaque, and basically started to drive Briscoe nuts.

"Sorry.  I feel like I'm twelve years old again, waiting for my first date."

"Twelve?  What, an early bloomer?"  Curtis smiled briefly.  "Relax.  It'll be OK."

Finally, they sighted the nursing home volunteer pushing Deborah's chair towards them.  Curtis and Briscoe approached her.  Briscoe nodded at the volunteer, who smiled and said she would be back in about four hours.

"Deborah." Curtis knelt in front of Deborah's wheelchair, looking up at her and hesitantly taking her hands in his.  "I missed you."  She smiled at him, leaned down and hugged him close, and he buried his face in her hair, breathing in deeply and closing his eyes.  When he opened them again, the first real smile Briscoe had seen since he'd come into contact with Curtis and his family again was lighting up his face.  He reached up and stroked Deborah's cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear.  "How are you doing?"

"I'm OK.  How are you?"

"OK."

Deborah smiled up at Briscoe.  "Hi Lennie."

Briscoe smiled back.  "Good to see you, Deborah."

"What time are the kids going to be here?" she asked Curtis.

"In about an hour.  Serena and Isabel are at the same home now.  Lisa's trying to get some time away from her job so she can come and take you and the kids until I'm allowed back."

Briscoe looked around.  "Well, I know I'm supposed to hang out with you and all, but three's a crowd and I'm behind on some reports.  Do you mind if I just take a seat and work on them, and you two can catch up?"  Curtis and his wife turned surprised, pleased faces towards him.  They glanced at each other and nodded.  Briscoe sat back down on a park bench, taking out a file full of reports he was supposed to have filled out or read in the last few days, while Curtis took Deborah over to a pond that was out of earshot, but within sight of Briscoe.

When Briscoe next looked up, Curtis and his wife were sitting facing each other, he at a picnic table and she in her chair in front of him.  They looked somber, talking about the case, most likely.  Deborah was speaking urgently, and Curtis' face was averted from hers.  He shook his head several times.  At one point, he reached out to touch her hand and she automatically drew back.  He contented himself with resting his hand on the side of her chair.  Briscoe went back to his reading.

"No!" Curtis' voice, raised to a shout, made Briscoe's head snap up.  Deborah was sobbing and trying to talk through her tears. Curtis was standing, arms crossed, looking away from her.  As Deborah cried, he chewed on his lip and Briscoe could see his chest rising and falling, as if he were trying to control his anger.  Then he rubbed his forehead and knelt down in front of Deborah's chair.  He tried to touch her cheek, but she jerked her face away and he pulled back, frustration and sorrow evident on his face.  Briscoe looked away again, trying to give them as much privacy as he could.

Finally the time came for the children to join them.

Olivia came first, without an escort.  She greeted Briscoe cheerfully, then spotted her parents at the picnic table near the pond and ran towards them with a happy shout.  As Briscoe followed her, Curtis picked her up and swung her around and she laughed delightedly.  She bent down to hug Deborah in her wheelchair, and then sat and told her parents, without stopping for breath, all about the place where she was staying and the people she was staying with.  Curtis and his wife, still clearly ill at ease over whatever they had been arguing about, slowly began to relax as they listened to their daughter's stories.

Next came Tania, who raced to her parents and sister with a look of happy disbelief on her face, the social worker in charge chasing behind her.  Curtis met her halfway to the pond, picked her up and held her tight, then carried her to Deborah, talking to her softly.  He placed her on Deborah's lap, where Deborah and Olivia fussed over her and she squirmed happily until a nearby dog caught her fancy.

Finally, Isabel and Serena arrived.  Isabel ran to her family with a shout of joy while Serena lagged behind, glowering at everybody.

"Hi Serena," Curtis said quietly.  She glared at him, stalked over to another picnic table, took out a book and started reading.  Deborah and Curtis traded a glance and Deborah wheeled herself over to Serena.  Curtis and Briscoe sat with the other girls, listening to Olivia's tales of her foster home and looking on as Isabel played with her delighted little sister.  Suddenly Serena's voice cut through Olivia's chatter.

"Yeah, well, how am I supposed to feel?  My grandmother's dead and my father's a suspect and we're in foster care all 'cause he can't keep it in his pants!"

"Serena!"

Curtis turned around quickly, taking in Serena's accusing glare as she stood and screamed at her mother.  Deborah was looking up at her, her expression pleading.  Olivia and Isabel had gone silent, and Curtis caught them looking at each other knowingly.  His eyes met Briscoe's, who had caught the same exchange.  He blew out his breath bitterly and turned to Deborah.

"They all know, don't they?" he asked her.  She nodded, not meeting his eyes.  He covered his eyes for a moment, then asked, "Do I even wanna know how?"

"I figured it out," Serena said.  "I'm not stupid.  And I told Isabel, 'cause I know you never would, you're a liar and a-"

"Stop it!" Curtis interrupted her.  He reached out for Isabel, who had started to cry. "You're right, I wouldn't have, because Isabel is barely nine years old!  What's the matter with you?"

"It's not my fault she's crying!  It's your fault!" Serena screamed at him.  Isabel clung to him, crying harder, and he stroked her back gently, shielding her from Serena's angry words.

"Shhh, sweetie," he murmured to her.  "It's OK, it's OK."  He directed at Serena, "You shouldn't have said anything to her.  She's too little to understand any of this - and so are you."

"I'm too little to understand why it's OK for you to cheat and lie?" Serena flung at him.

"No, that's not what I-" he protested.

"That's exactly what you're saying-"

"NO!  It's not!  It's not right, it's not OK, I don't care what your mother says!" Deborah looked away, angry tears in her eyes.  Isabel had hunched down lower when Curtis' voice grew louder, and he forced himself to calm down before continuing.  "I don't have any excuse.  But you - you don't have to be so mad at me that you take it out on everybody else.  What are you gonna do next, try to explain it to Tania too?  If you're angry at me, take it out on me, OK?  Leave Isabel out of it!"

Serena had stopped ranting, uncertain of what to say or do as Curtis admitted to being wrong.  She looked at the rest of her family, finding only condemnation and lack of support.  Now she turned on Deborah.  "Why are you always defending him?  Why aren't you mad at him?!" she asked her mother plaintively.

"Serena..."

"The Bible says adultery is a sin.  You said we should follow the Bible.  You mean it's not a sin if you only do it on the last Friday of the month while you're stoned?"

"Serena!", "Jesus, how did you know about that?" Deborah and Curtis spoke simultaneously.

"What's stoned?"  Isabel asked, eyes wide.

"Not now, sweetie," Curtis said quickly.

"I hear plenty, it's a small apartment.  You're such a hypocrite - getting all mad at me when I was selling, and I wasn't even using any of it!  I heard-"

"Serena, stop it!" Deborah screamed.  "That's enough!"

"No, that's OK," Curtis soothed her quickly.  "Look, it was wrong, I, I shouldn't have, and you're right, adultery is a sin no matter what.  And using drugs is against the law.  I don't have any excuse," he repeated.  He paused for a second, then said simply, "I'm sorry.  I know you're mad at me, and I don't blame you.  My dad used to cheat on my mom.  I swore I'd never be like him and I never forgave him.  I know how you're feeling," he said, his voice sad and resigned.

"I hate you, that's how I'm feeling!"  Curtis looked away from her and sighed heavily.

"I forgive you, Daddy," Isabel said timidly.  Curtis smiled down at her sadly.

"Sweetheart.  Thanks," he squeezed her small form, patting her comfortingly.

"You make me sick!" Serena stormed at Isabel.  "You all make me sick!!" She got up and started to run away.

"Shit!" Curtis swore, reflexively adding, "Sorry, Isabel."  He looked at his daughter running off and gave Deborah a despairing look.  "She's doing it again.  I have to go after her."

Briscoe said, "Do you think maybe I should-"

"No, no, I have to - I have to try and talk to her."  Curtis stood up, heading in Serena's direction.  Briscoe looked at Deborah.

"Does she do this a lot?"

Deborah nodded.  "She and Rey fight all the time.  She gets so angry with him.  She's so angry at everybody."

"She's a bitch," Olivia said viciously.

"Olivia!" Deborah remonstrated.

"Well, she is.  Why did she have to come today anyway?  She wrecks everything."

"She's your sister," Deborah said wearily.  "She's as much a part of this family as any of us."

In the distance, Curtis had caught up with his daughter and was standing, arms crossed, listening as she screamed at him.  He was trying to keep a hold of his temper, but it was obvious from his body language that he was quickly running out of patience.  Finally he slammed his hand against a tree and shouted at her in rapid fire Spanish.  She screamed back in English, but was too far away for Briscoe to make sense of any of what she said.  Curtis grabbed her arm to pull her back to the family at the table.  She struggled, hitting him viciously until he grabbed both of her arms and held them fast.  He sat them both down on the ground, holding on to her while she struggled.

Briscoe and Deborah turned their attention back to the other girls, occasionally glancing at where Curtis and Serena were sitting.  For a long time, there was nothing to see, just Serena fuming and Curtis speaking to her.  Finally he seemed to reach her, because she quieted down and nodded.

They got up and rejoined the rest of the family.  She came sullenly, reluctantly, but on her own steam.  She stomped over to the other table and picked up her book again.

Curtis returned to Deborah's side and sat down.  He answered her questioning look, saying "She'll be OK.  She just needed to yell at me for a while.  I said she could just sit and read and not talk to any of us if she didn't want to."  Deborah shook her head, and Curtis spread his hands.  "What?  I can't force her to like me, Deborah.  She's her own person."

"Mommy, I need to go pee," Isabel said timidly.

While Deborah accompanied her to the nearest public restroom, Curtis asked quietly, "Olivia, I never asked you before, but how did you find out about me being with other women?"

His daughter gave a sigh that was much too old for her thirteen years.  "I was looking for some change for our school lunch plan.  Mom said there might be some in your wallet, and I found a couple condoms."  Curtis made a small sound in his throat and winced, blushing.  "I know you and Mom can't have kids any more.  I'm not dumb."

"Great.  I'm raising a detective," Curtis muttered to Briscoe.  "And Serena figured it out too?"

"No, she heard me and Mom talking about it after - after Nona died."

Curtis sighed.  Then he swallowed hard and looked down at the table.  "What about... the drugs?  Did you know about that too?" he asked, his voice so low that Briscoe could hardly hear him.

Olivia gazed compassionately at her father's face.  "Mom and Aunt Lisa were arguing about it the day Nona died, and Serena and me overheard them.  Mom told her about the drug test at your precinct.  Aunt Lisa was mad at you, but Mom wasn't.  She understood."

"Understood what?  That it's OK if I break the law?" Curtis asked bitterly.  "It's not OK.  If something's illegal, then you shouldn't do it."

"So why do you?"  Curtis shook his head wordlessly.  Olivia moved to look into his eyes, but he looked away, too ashamed to meet her gaze.  "Don't tell me I'm too little to understand, OK?  Just explain it to me."

"I can't.  I can't.  Damn it."  Curtis rested his forehead on his hand.  Olivia put her arm around him.  After a moment he hugged her back, resting his head on top of hers.  "Sweetie, I'm sorry.  None of you should have to deal with any of this."

"It's not your fault."

"Yeah, it is," he said heavily.

===

Finally the time came for Deborah and the children to be taken back.  As Tania was taken away screaming by a social worker, Deborah covered her mouth with her hands and tried not to cry. Curtis cleared his throat and looked down at the ground, his face blank.  Serena snorted derisively as she spotted the next social worker coming to take her, Olivia and Isabel back.

"This is great.  You're the one who got arrested, but we're the ones who get taken away and locked up."

"Yeah, well, you're 'locked up' in a house.  I was actually in jail for four days.  I'd think that would be enough to make you happy," he snapped.

"Rey," Deborah said quietly.

Curtis swore under his breath.  "Sorry."  He and Deborah hugged a teary-eyed Isabel and a determinedly cheerful Olivia, and Deborah ruffled Serena's hair.  She ducked angrily, striding away ahead of the social worker and not looking back.

As the nursing home volunteer waited, Briscoe averted his eyes from the anguish and longing in Curtis' face as he and his wife gazed at each other wordlessly.  He slowly raised his hand to take one of hers, and this time she allowed the touch.  "See you Tuesday," he told her softly.  She nodded.

"You OK?" Briscoe asked after they were left alone.

"Yeah," Curtis' voice was low, tired.

"Back to the apartment?"

Curtis stared at the ground for a minute.  "I'm gonna go out, do you mind?"

Briscoe shook his head, and Curtis walked off.  Briscoe sighed and went home.

===

_Saturday, October 11  
2:35am_

Briscoe got up to use the washroom and noticed that the couch was still empty.  As he returned to his bedroom, the front door opened and Curtis walked in slowly.  Briscoe cleared his throat.  Curtis startled, then gestured apologetically.

"Lennie.  Shit.  'Msorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."

Briscoe frowned and moved closer.  Curtis straightened up and removed his jacket, hanging it up in the closet.  "You didn't.  You OK?" Briscoe asked.  Quick nod.  Briscoe took in Curtis' slightly disheveled state and unsteadiness.

"How much did you drink?" he decided to go with straightforward again - it seemed to work well.  Curtis sighed.

"Six or seven.  Is that OK with you?  Or did I need to clear that before I went out?" his words were slightly slurred.

"Rey... why?"

"Gee, I dunno, maybe I just wanted to go to a bar.  Is that a crime now too?  Do the conditions of my bail state that I can't go to a bar?"  Annoyed, belligerent tone.

"Considering what happened last time, I woulda thought you'd avoid going out again so soon."  Curtis swayed a little, steadying himself on the wall.  "You still drunk?"

"A little," Curtis admitted sheepishly, eyes a bit glassy.  He took in Briscoe's disapproving glare, and shrugged apologetically.  "Lennie, look, I'm sorry.  I'm not trying to give you attitude, 'm just tired."

Briscoe came closer.  There it was, mixed in with the bar smell of alcohol and cigarettes... slight smell of perfume.

"Lennie, don't.  Don't go all 'detective' on me," Curtis stepped back, slightly alarmed.

"Rey." He took in the rumpled appearance, smudge of something that looked like lipstick on Curtis' cheek, reddened eyes and the beginning of a bruise along his jaw.

Curtis backed up some more and held up his hands, giving in.  "OK, OK, I had a few drinks, picked up a girl, we went to her place, then I came back here.  I used a condom, I did not have sex in a public place and I did not do drugs.  And as an added bonus, I did not kill anybody.  Can I go to bed now, Dad, or do you wanna know what positions we were in too?"  He was quickly becoming annoyed again, alcohol making his emotions volatile and unpredictable.

Briscoe looked at him, hard.  "Were you in a fight too?"

"Nah, not a fight - more like a scuffle," he shrugged dismissively.

"How come you're doing this to yourself?"

"Hey, haven't you heard?  I'm up for murder.  I'll probably be convicted.  It's gonna be a loong time between dates.  I hope," he added.  "Unless I don't end up in protective custody.  Then I might have lotsa dates, but not the kind I want," he chuckled humourlessly.

"If you're worried about prison, getting in any kinda trouble while you're on trial isn't exactly the best way to avoid it," Briscoe said caustically.  "Are you worried?"

"Oh no, I'm really looking forward to it.  I'll either be talking to myself in solitary for years or get traded around the cellblock for cigarettes.  What's not to like about that?" Curtis replied lightly, then his expression became somber.  "Mostly I don't wanna lose my family.  Although I guess that's already happened."  He shrugged, going back to a lighter tone.  "So yeah, I went out, met a nice girl, had a nice time, I'm nice'n buzzed and _not_ thinking about how my own daughter - she just turned eleven, by the way - accused me of not being able to 'keep it in my pants'.  Nice thing for an eleven-year old to say to her father, yeah?  Especially when it's true," he trailed off bitterly.

Briscoe kept looking at him impassively.  Curtis sat down on the couch.  "I'm also definitely not thinking about how my wife said - again - that we should get a divorce.  Said she won't contest it, I can keep the kids, that way I won't have to take care of her too.  She doesn't blame me," he chuckled, incredulous.  "Can you believe that, I'm the one who's cheating but she says it's her fault.  So many guys would kill to be in that position.  Me, it makes me wanna puke.  Or maybe that's the beers, it's hard to tell," he joked.

Briscoe winced at the pain hidden behind Curtis' casual demeanor.  Even through the numbing effects of the alcohol, this was hurting him badly.  "You haven't lost your family.  The judge said you can all be together again as soon as Social Services does an evaluation."

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen.  Come on, Lennie, I wouldn't give me my kids back if I was Social Services."

"Why not?"

"I'm clinically depressed, I'm cheating on their mother and I'm bordering on abusive.  They're better off where they are."  Grim tone, no attempt to hide it now.

"Rey-"

"Shut up," he said wearily.  He lay back on the couch.  "Look, it's late, I'm drunk, you're pissed off, can we skip the heart-to-heart and go to sleep?"

Briscoe nodded and went back to bed.  He lay there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling.  Finally he got up to get a drink of water and found Curtis standing at the window, forehead to the glass, staring out at the city.  The moonlight outlined his slender form, and Briscoe could see the tension in his back and neck.  He made a sound to acknowledge that he'd heard Briscoe, but didn't turn.

"Can't sleep?"  Briscoe entered the dark living room.

"No.  Apparently even alcohol and anti-depressants are no match for good ol' Catholic guilt." Curtis' speech was still a little blurred, but clearer than before.  Once more hiding his pain behind a casual tone.  "How did you decide to get divorced?" he asked without preamble.

"Which time?  One of them I cheated on her, the other one cheated on me because I was a drunk."

"Did you still love her?"

"Which one?"

"Either one.  Did you still love her when she divorced you?"

"Yeah."

"Hurt?"

"Yeah.  For a long time."

"How come you're OK with it now?  How can you even joke about it?" His voice held disbelief.

Briscoe thought for a while.  "Time.  It took a long time to accept it, but eventually you have to.  You get used to it."

Curtis nodded, still looking out the window. "I guess so.  Hard to believe that right now.  Feels like... like barbed wire being pulled through my gut.  God, I love her so much," he whispered.  The offhand tone had disappeared.  "She said I couldn't want her the way she is now.  Like because she's sick she can't understand why I wanna touch her, make love to her, be with her. She's so damn blind," he shook his head in resignation, then looked at Briscoe, eyes shimmering with tears and voice quiet.  "I'm gonna have to, aren't I?  Accept it.  She's gone.  Even if I'm acquitted, it's over.  She's gonna leave.  She doesn't think I can take care of her and the girls, so she's gonna leave.  And I can't even tell her she's wrong, all I can tell her is I don't want her to go," his voice caught and he looked down.

Briscoe stayed rooted to the floor, not sure what to say, knowing that there probably wasn't anything he could say to make this any better.  Curtis took a deep breath and moved to the couch.  "Go to bed.  Tomorrow I'm gonna regret having said anything and I'll probably be pissed at you for letting me say it."

"OK."  Briscoe turned to go back to his bedroom.  "At least make sure you have some water and aspirin before you go to bed.  It'll help the hangover tomorrow."

===

_Saturday, October 11  
10:12am_

The next day, Curtis was pale and unsteady at breakfast time.

"Lennie... I'm sorry about last night."

"Yeah."

"I really shouldn't be screwing around right now, should I?"

"No, you shouldn't."

"I'm sorry."

Briscoe made a dismissive sound and poured some coffee for Curtis.  "Any plans for today?"

"My boss wants me to come and talk to him about work.  I don't have any more leave days left and I don't know what he's gonna say about - about any of this."

"He seems like a pretty good guy."

"You met him?"

"Yeah, when Ed and John were doing their investigation, I went and talked to him."

"Why?  I thought you weren't involved."

"Off the record.  I was worried about you."

Curtis put his cup down and looked at him, expression unreadable.  "Why are you doing this?"

"What?"

"Any of it.  Putting me up, going to see McCoy for me... not that I'm not grateful, but why?"

Briscoe shrugged.  "Why'd you take me in after Cathy was killed?"

Curtis held his gaze, thinking.  "You don't have to pay me back for that.  We were partners then, we're not now.  We haven't even been friends in years."

"Maybe I feel bad about that.  I shoulda known things wouldn't be easy for you.  I shouldn't have drifted away.  Shouldn't have been too busy to see you needed help."

Curtis raised his cup and drank his coffee thoughtfully.  "You couldn't have known," he said at last.

"Maybe I should have asked."  Curtis shrugged, clearly wanting to end the topic.

"What else are you gonna do today?"

"Church," Curtis said shortly.

"It's Saturday."

"Confession."

Briscoe regarded him steadily.  "Confession?  Or beating yourself up?"

"Lennie, drop it please.  You don't understand."

"I understand the morning after real well.  I understand feeling disappointed in yourself.  But going to a place where you're just gonna get a guilt trip-"

"You think that's what happens in confession?"

"You tell me.  I haven't been to confession since I was a kid."

Curtis rubbed his forehead.  "I can't.  I can't explain.  I can't explain why I keep doing exactly what I know I shouldn't do, when I know exactly how I'm gonna feel the next day - and I don't mean hung over, I mean... just feeling like I'm never gonna be able to look anybody in the eye again.  Dirty."

"And confessing makes you feel better?"

"No.  If anything, I feel worse.  It's not about feeling better or getting absolution.  It's - I can't, I can't explain.  Please.  Please drop it."

===

_Saturday, October 11  
5:30pm_

Briscoe had gone out to run errands while Curtis went to his lieutenant's house and to church.  He'd come back to the apartment to find Curtis asleep on the couch again.  He looked down at his former partner, taking in thin features that looked much younger in sleep than when he was awake.  He almost looked like the fresh-faced young detective Briscoe had been dismayed to be partnered with, back when Curtis' youthful enthusiasm, firm convictions and happily-married-man demeanor had made Briscoe feel old and jaded.

Briscoe went to get himself a glass of water, prompting Curtis to sleepily open one eye and mumble something in Spanish.

"I don't parlez Español," Briscoe said.

"No _hablo_ Español, Lennie," Curtis corrected him automatically, slowly waking up.  "How can you live in a city with more than two million Hispanics, partnered with me for four years, and not know a word of Spanish?"

"Hey, I know enchilada, chimichanga, mi casa su casa, que sera sera..."

"Stop, stop, you're killing the language."  Curtis sat up slowly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like there's an oompah band in my head."

"Didja take two aspirin like I told you yesterday?"

"Yeah yeah, I think this is just from the meds."

"Think you can eat?"

Curtis had to think about that for a minute.  "Yeah."  He rubbed his eyes, yawning.  Briscoe busied himself in the kitchen, making spaghetti.

"What do you want me to do?" Curtis asked, standing up carefully.

"Just set the table," Briscoe said.  Soon they were sitting down to eat.

"How'd it go with your boss?" Briscoe asked, digging in.

"Pretty good.  He says I can go to work on Monday if I feel up to it.  He's toeing the whole innocent-until-proven-guilty, we-stand-behind-our-own line.  Said normally he's ask a cop on trial to take time off, but he knows I don't have any left."

"That's good."  There was a pause.  "How was church?"

Curtis took a mouthful of spaghetti and shook his head, indicating he really didn't want to talk about it.  Briscoe took the hint and switched topics, telling Curtis about a case he was working on.  Curtis listened for a few minutes, then suddenly put up a hand.

"No, don't."

"What?"

"It's an ongoing investigation.  You shouldn't be talking about it."

"You're a cop," Briscoe protested.

Curtis put down his fork.  "Not for long."

"You're acting like you're already convicted."  Curtis stared at him darkly.  "Come on, Rey, you're gonna be fine.  McCoy's a damn good lawyer."  Curtis stood up quickly, leaning on the table for support and lowering his head for a moment as dizziness took over.  As soon as he was able to stand on his own again, he pushed off the table.

"Don't.  Don't patronize me, OK?"  He went to the window and looked out, brooding.

"I'm not patronizing you.  You're gonna be acquitted."  Curtis didn't answer.  Briscoe could see the tension in his back, and didn't know what to do about it.  Well, at least there was one thing he could do.

"Rey."

"What?" not bothering to look back at him.

"Finish your dinner."

"Leave me alone."

"You're worse than a little kid.  You have to eat something."

"I'll eat later."

"You'll eat now.  My house, my rules."  Curtis turned to look at him.  There was a brief, silent battle of wills.  Briscoe knew he was bullying Curtis, knew that Curtis really wasn't strong enough to stand up for himself right now, but what the hell - he wasn't exactly taking care of himself right now either.  Somebody had to.  Curtis finally dropped his gaze and returned to the table, finishing off his meal in silence.  Then he cleared the table and washed up while Briscoe turned on a game.  Briscoe looked up as Curtis approached his easy chair.

"Look, I'm sorry.  I know I'm being a pain in the ass.  I'm just - I'm still edgy from last night, OK?  You know me, when I'm feeling like crap about myself I take it out on the people around me.  Lucky you."  He sighed, running a hand through his hair.  "Besides, everything tastes like metal.  Puts me off food."

Briscoe nodded, accepting the apology, and gestured at the couch.  As they watched TV, Curtis's eyes started to close again.  He yawned and frowned irately.  "This is really getting annoying.  I can't go more than a few hours without needing to sleep again."

"It'll pass."

"It better."

"You were up pretty late last night, too."

"Yeah, thanks for the reminder."

They watched the game in companionable silence, broken only by occasional comments on the skill (or lack thereof) of the players.  Curtis eventually drifted off to sleep again, and Briscoe watched till the end of the game.  As he turned off the TV, Curtis sighed and turned over on the couch.  He muttered something, then startled awake.  Briscoe watched him look around, orienting himself, then finally figure out where he was.  He sat up, still a bit dazed, then turned pale.  Briscoe said, "Lie back down," and Curtis did so, quickly.

"Nightmare?"

"I don't know," Curtis said indistinctly.  He stared up at the ceiling for a minute.  Finally, he said in a soft voice, "Lennie... what if I did kill her?"

Briscoe felt his stomach turn over.  He stared at the man on the couch.  How well did he know Curtis now?  How far could his faith in Curtis take him?  Did he even want to know?

Curtis sensed something in the silence, and turned his head.  He regarded Briscoe for a long moment.  His eyes narrowed.

"You're thinking I could have, aren't you?"  Briscoe felt like a deer caught in the headlights.

"I..."

"Even you think I coulda killed her."  He sat up slowly and faced Briscoe directly.

"What were you talking about, then?"

"Do you think I did it?" Curtis demanded.

"No."

Piercing stare.  Briscoe was reminded that Curtis used to be a Homicide detective, and a damn good one.  He was very good at knowing when somebody was telling the truth.  He hoped he was passing Curtis' test, because he wasn't so sure he would be passing his own.

"Yeah, you do.  You think there's at least the possibility." Hard voice.

"I don't know what to think.  Help me out.  What were you talking about just now?"

"I sure as hell didn't mean I actually killed her!"  He stood up, crossing his arms defensively.  "I mean I don't know what happened to her.  I... I haven't wanted to think about it, but all I can think is, maybe she did kill herself, and I wonder if I was the cause.  I can't think why else she woulda changed her will.  It doesn't make sense."

"Do you want to know?"

"Of course I want to know!  She's my mother, Lennie.  I'm charged with her murder.  I want to know what the hell happened to her."

"You think she coulda committed suicide?"

"I don't know any more," Curtis said uncertainly.

"How was she doing?"

"You mean emotionally?"

"Yeah."

Curtis thought for a moment.  He shrugged helplessly.  "I don't really know.  I assume she was upset, knowing she had Alzheimer's."

"You don't know?"

"No, I hadn't done more than look in on her once a day in weeks.  I didn't have time."

"How long ago did you find out she had Alzheimer's?"

"Three months, I think."

"Did you know she named you beneficiary?"

Curtis opened his mouth, then closed it, narrowed his eyes and said accusingly, "You're interrogating me."

Long pause.  Briscoe swallowed.  "Yeah, I guess I am."

"Is this why you got me to stay at your place, so you could figure this out for yourself?"

"No.  I'm just trying to help."

"Lennie.  I have to know.  Do you think I'm guilty?"  He sat back down and leaned towards Briscoe, eyes searching Briscoe's face.

"No."  Briscoe put as much sincerity as he could into the declaration, even though at this point he wasn't completely sure any more.  He pushed his thoughts away from any doubts.

"Green and Colton thought so.  They had enough evidence for an arrest."

"How many times did you and me arrest somebody who wasn't guilty?  How many times were we sure we had the right guy, and then find out it wasn't him?"  Curtis's expression was closed, still unwilling to trust him fully.

Briscoe gathered his thoughts for a moment.  Then he said, not sure where this would take them and not sure he wanted to go there, "You put yourself through three hours of interrogation from Ed and John because you wanted to help them figure out what happened.  Maybe they didn't ask the right questions 'cause they just wanted to trip you up and make you confess."  Curtis was staring at him, hard, and Briscoe hoped he wouldn't get spooked.  "I'm a detective too, you know.  And so were you.  You wanna help me try and figure this out?"

"You mean work this case together?  Investigate my own mother's murder?"  Curtis seemed grimly amused.  "I am way too close to this to be objective.  Besides, didn't you read Skoda's conclusions about my 'state of mind'?  According to him, I'm not even competent to have committed the crime.  I'm definitely not competent to figure it out.  My biggest defense is I'm too screwed up to have done this," his mouth twisted in self-disgust.  "Besides, you'd have to tell Green and Colton whatever you found out."

"First off, you're not incompetent.  Second... look, you hafta trust somebody.  Otherwise you're on your own.  As for me telling Ed and Colton..." Briscoe took a deep breath.  "You know I never had a problem bending the rules to do the right thing.  You're the one who threw fits over perjury and all that, I didn't.  I'm a good cop, but I just don't have the kinda rigid moral code you do."

"Did," Curtis corrected him bitterly.

"Did, fine.  What I'm trying to say is, I don't mind keeping things from my fellow officers.  You can call it obstruction of justice... I call it being fair.  I asked Ed to look into other possibilities.  I don't know how hard he tried, I don't know if he was trying so hard not to give you special treatment 'cause you're a cop that... I don't know.  But I don't mind digging around and not telling him what I find."  Curtis was still uncertain, but looking more convinced.  At least the defensive body language was thawing a bit.  Briscoe continued.  "And remember, Jack doesn't have a problem bending the rules either, not even when he's prosecuting.  You can trust him too."

Curtis thought it over.  At last, he nodded, not sure about the whole idea but at least not rejecting it outright.  Briscoe let out his breath.

"OK, lemme get my notebook and let's move to the kitchen table.  I'm gonna be repeating a lot, 'cause I didn't actually see the whole interrogation and I mostly stayed away from your case, pretty much from the beginning."  They moved to the table and he got his notebook ready.  "Ready?"  Curtis nodded.  "Before we start, I need to know: did you lie to Ed and John about anything?"

"No."

"Rey, please, you gotta be straight with me on this," Briscoe searched his face for any hint of deception, trying to convey that he would understand if Curtis had lied to the other detectives.

"I didn't!"

"If you lie to me, I can't help you," he reminded Curtis.

"Lennie, I swear to God, I did not lie to them."

They worked for a while, Briscoe asking all the regular questions, trying to treat this like a regular case.  Curtis seemed to shed some of his depression as he attempted to answer as fully as possible, anticipating some questions and expanding areas that might be useful.  It almost felt like the old days, working together to solve a case, Briscoe taking notes and Curtis leaning forward, elbows on the table, involved and alert.  After going through an exhaustive inventory of Estela Curtis' life and contacts, Briscoe took a deep breath.

"OK.  We've covered your mother's church, social groups, work and life history.  One angle we haven't done.  I know it's gonna be hard to be objective about this, but try.  Can you think of anybody in your family who coulda done this?  Your brother or sister?"

Curtis bristled a bit.  "No, of course not.  My brother wasn't even in the state."

"What was their relationship with your mother like?"

"Better than mine.  In the last few years, I really haven't had time to talk to her much.  They both did."

"What about anybody else in your family?  Deborah?"

Curtis looked at him incredulously.  "Deborah?"

"This is an investigation, remember?  I'm just covering all the bases."

"No.  She can't even get down the stairs without help."

"What about your kids?"

"My kids?  Are you nuts?  My oldest is thirteen."

"You've seen kids commit crimes before.  Your eleven-year old was dealing drugs."

Curtis's expression hardened.  "Murder is a little different from drug dealing."

"Any problems between any of your kids and your mother?"

Curtis hesitated for a split second before shaking his head, saying, "Lennie, this is pointless.  My kids couldn't have done anything like this.  Not even Serena."

"I never woulda believed my daughter could commit a crime either.  But she did.  We don't always know our kids as well as we think we do."

"Your daughter was an adult.  And you didn't live with her.  You hadn't lived with her in a long time."

"Did you know Serena was dealing?"

Curtis pressed his lips together and looked away.

"Did you even suspect?" he pressed.

"No," Curtis admitted.  "But this is different," he added quickly, "And there's nothing more to say about it."

"Rey-"

"I said that's enough.  Lay off my family," the expression on Curtis' face warned Briscoe to stop.

"OK.  Let's work the suicide angle.  Did you have any idea how your mother was feeling?"

"No.  I... I would've known if she was thinking of killing herself though, wouldn't I?"

"You think she knew how you were feeling?"

Curtis blinked, taken aback a bit, and thought for a moment.  "No."

"You hadn't told your own wife or mother."  Briscoe paused.  "You think either one of them suspected?"

"I - I don't know.  I can't answer that.  I don't think so," he trailed off.  His face darkened.  "How come you're asking me this?"

"Just because you didn't see signs that your mother was gonna kill herself, that doesn't mean they weren't there."

"I know that."

"Why did you want to kill yourself?"

"I - I just wanted out.  I couldn't think of any other way.  I just... I couldn't..." suddenly Curtis sat back in his chair, jarring the table slightly.  Briscoe looked up.  "Why the hell are you making me talk about this?  Why are you dragging up how I felt?"

"I want you to think about your own thoughts of suicide.  Then see if you noticed anything like that with your mother's state of mind."

"I... I can't," Curtis' voice was becoming agitated.  This was starting to hit too close to areas he didn't want to get near.

"Why not?"

Curtis' temper snapped and he leaned forward again, into Briscoe's space.  "You wanna know how I felt?  I hated everything about my life!  I hated myself for being weak!  For cheating on my wife, for hurting my children!  I hated myself for needing to escape my life, for not being happy with what I had!  For - for hating my own wife and children, wishing they were dead sometimes just so I could get some sleep!  And none of this has anything to do with my mother's death!"

"How do you know?  Maybe she knew how stressed out you were-" Briscoe persisted doggedly.

"The hell with you!  Leave me alone!"  Suddenly Curtis stood up and shoved the table aside.  Papers and coffee cups flew as the table upended and landed with a resounding crash, and Briscoe narrowly missed being hit by the debris.  Curtis gripped the back of his chair, gritting his teeth through the inevitable moment of dizziness, then raised his head and fixed Briscoe with a furious glare, fists clenched, chest heaving.

"You son of a bitch!  Back off!  I don't want to deal with this, I don't want to think about it, I don't want to dredge it all up!"  He shoved at Briscoe's chair, and it tipped back.  Briscoe got up quickly before he could be spilled out of it.  All of a sudden he was sick of walking on eggshells around Curtis.

"You agreed to do this, we're gonna do it.  You don't get to walk away when it gets uncomfortable!"

"You know what?  Take your interrogation and shove it.  You don't have me under arrest, you can't make me keep talking.  I'm out on bail, remember?"

"You want me to put you under arrest?  Is that the only way you're gonna stay and deal?"

"Oh gimme a break - you're gonna arrest me for what?"

"For one thing you just trashed my kitchen-"

"Nice, Lennie, very nice.  You gonna use your handcuffs too, read me my rights?"

"-and for another you just came damn close to assaulting a police officer.  You want I should push you a little more till you really lose it?  It's not that hard!  Even when we were partners, it didn't take much - one guy calling you a spic, another guy cheating on his wife when it hit just a little too close to home-"

"Back off!" Curtis turned his back on Briscoe and stalked out of the kitchen.

"Why, you gonna take a swing at me?" Briscoe followed him into the living room.  "That wouldn't do a lot for your credibility during your trial.  'No, Your Honour, I didn't kill my mother, and oh that cop I punched, that was just my old buddy who I was staying with while I was out on bail!'"

"Go to hell!"

"Or do you _want_ to be convicted?"

Silence.  Curtis looked away, jaw working with anger, arms crossed and body trembling with the effort to keep himself under control.

Briscoe's eyebrows went up.  "You do, don't you?  At least part of you wants to be convicted so you can go to jail and get killed there - then it'll be suicide, but it won't really be your fault."

"Shut up!"

"Rey!  I'm trying to help you!"

"Maybe I don't want your help!  Maybe I don't deserve your help!!"  He turned to leave the apartment and Briscoe grabbed his shoulder.  Before he knew what was happening, Curtis had slammed him into the wall, hard, and had him in a bruising chokehold.

"Don't TOUCH me!!" Curtis shouted, dark eyes glittering with fury.  His voice became dangerously soft and menacing.  "You lay a hand on me again and I swear to God I'll kill you."

Briscoe held very still, unable to breathe.  He remembered his partner's violent temper, and how quickly it could ignite.  In the old days, he probably would have shoved him back and taken his chances... but back then he was younger and Curtis wasn't so out of control.

Suddenly the dangerous light in Curtis's eyes went out and he let Briscoe go.

"Oh my god," he stepped back, looking shocked and shaken.  "I... Lennie.  I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Briscoe rasped, rubbing his throat.

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah, yeah.  It's OK, I shouldn't have provoked you."

"Provoked me?  What, by trying to help me?"

"By pushing you.  You told me to back off and I shoulda listened.  I know you."

Curtis backed into the kitchen, sat down and put his head in his hands.  After a moment, Briscoe picked up the chair that Curtis had knocked over and sat himself directly in front of Curtis.  He mirrored Curtis' posture, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, in his personal space but otherwise trying to be non-threatening.

"Rey... I need to know.  Have you ever lost your temper with your kids like you did just now with me?"

Curtis looked up at him warily.

"As a cop, I need to know.  And as a parent, I know you'll tell me the truth because you want what's best for your daughters."  He paused, then looked down, giving Curtis a modicum of privacy by not looking directly at him.  "Have you been abusive to them?  More than a spanking or a slap?"

Curtis bowed his head.  He took a deep breath.  "As a cop, I know I haven't.  As a parent... yeah, I have.  I've definitely been emotionally abusive.  It's not much comfort knowing that Child Services is too overworked with kids who are actually beaten up to take the time to bother with mine."

Briscoe nodded.  Still looking at the floor, he asked quietly, "What about Deborah?  Have you ever hit her?"

"No."  Curtis paused for a long time.  "You don't know how many times I've wanted to," he confessed.  "We fight so much..." he trailed off, frowning, thinking about his wife and their problems.

Briscoe nodded, looking up from the floor.  He regarded Curtis' bowed head and clasped hands for a long time.  "You need help," he finally said gently.

"I'm getting help, remember?  I'm on anti-depressants."

"How's that going?  How do you feel?"

"So far I feel like hell.  I have a headache all the time, I can't even get up without getting dizzy, I need to sleep... plus it's damn expensive.  I can't afford this on top of everything else."

"You hafta give it a chance.  It's supposed to take a few weeks, it's only been five days."

Curtis made a disgusted face.  "I know, I know, but... I hate it," he said vehemently.  He looked at Briscoe.  "I take those pills and every time I do I feel like I'm too weak to deal with my own problems.  I feel so damn powerless.  And I feel like, like I've been walking around in a fog for years, just too tired to really feel anything most of the time, and now, now that I don't have that much to do and I'm getting more sleep, it's like the fog is lifting and I'm left feeling so damn angry all the time!"

"You need to get help with this," Briscoe repeated.

"I told you, I can't afford a shrink.  Can you get that through your head?  We have no money.  None.  I can't afford to pay someone to help me 'explore my feelings' and all that crap."

"What about a support group?"

"Oh for god's sake," Curtis snapped irritably, looking away.

"I know it's not your thing, but you gotta do what you can.  Swallow your pride - it's not gonna do much for you now," Briscoe said bluntly.

"Pride," Curtis shook his head bitterly.  "What pride.  I don't even know myself any more.  I'm not the person I used to be, and I'm not proud of the person I've become."  He rubbed his forehead.  Then he looked up at Briscoe and asked him quietly, "Lennie, even if I get through this trial, even if I get control of my life and myself again... how am I ever gonna get back what I had?  How am I ever gonna get back my self-respect?"

Briscoe sighed as he remembered asking himself the same question so many years ago.  Curtis looked like he had felt back then: beaten down, broken.  He shook his head.  "You won't.  Not the way it was before."  Curtis breathed in shakily, holding his gaze, and Briscoe continued gently, "The things you've done that you're not proud of... they're with you forever.  You just learn to live with them.  You learn to be proud of yourself for climbing out of where you are right now.  And you will."  Curtis looked away.  "So you won't be the same hotshot you were.  Personally I think a little humility's good for the soul."

Curtis' brow furrowed as he took in Briscoe's words.  He nodded doubtfully.  "Yeah, I guess so."  He took a deep breath and sat up, putting a bit of physical distance between them.  Briscoe sat back too, and Curtis changed the subject.  "I've been thinking, I should go back to my place.  I'm over the first few days of meds and I haven't fainted or had a heart attack or anything.  And... I'm no good to be around anybody right now.  I'm too angry.  I don't want to take it out on you again."

Briscoe frowned.  He paused for a minute to consider his words, then said, "I think you need to stay here."

Curtis looked at him in surprise.  "What, you don't like your furniture?  You want me to break the rest of your stuff?  Wanna see if I actually kill you next time you piss me off?"

"I don't want you going home alone."

"Why not?"

"You'll be alone.  That worries me."

Comprehension dawned on Curtis' face.  "What, you think I'm gonna kill myself if I leave? You're throwing that in my face?"

"Yeah.  I am," Briscoe said evenly.

"I won't," Curtis promised.

"You don't have to keep talking.  But don't leave.  If you leave, I can tell you pretty much from personal experience what you're gonna do.  You're gonna make things worse for yourself.  You're gonna get yourself into a situation where you're gonna get hurt.  You're gonna pick a fight at a bar, or do hard drugs, not just pot, or step in front of a train, or something else stupid and self-destructive.  I can't let you do that."

Curtis shook his head slowly, a trapped look growing in his eyes.  "No.  Don't.  Please, don't do this."

"You walk outta here and I will have you arrested for assaulting a police officer."

Curtis stared at him, betrayal written across his face.  "Lennie, please.  I... I've been to jail already.  Don't make me - don't," his voice started to sound desperate.  "I'm feeling trapped already, don't, don't make it worse.  Please," he begged.

Briscoe sighed, hating himself for what he was doing but not knowing what else to do.  "I have to.  I trust you that you didn't kill your mother and you never hit Deborah or seriously hurt your kids.  But I don't trust you not to hurt yourself."

Curtis closed his eyes and covered his mouth with his hand, his breathing harsh.

"I need you to agree to a few things," Briscoe finally broke the silence.

"What?" Curtis' voice was muffled by his hand.

"First, you let me and McCoy look around without interfering.  That means we'll be talking to your sister, your priest, and who knows who else.  Things are gonna come up that aren't gonna be pretty.  Trust us to handle it."

"Fine."

"Second, I know you can't afford a shrink but please, join a support group.  Partner, you have to," he said as Curtis made an impatient gesture.  "You're too angry.  You're too out of control.  I can't help you.  At least give it a try, for your kids' sake."

Curtis nodded dumbly, too upset to fight any more.  Briscoe breathed a sigh of relief.

"Third.  Promise me you won't do anything stupid while you're here.  No going to bars, no picking up strangers, no drinking, no drugs, no hurting yourself.  Not for one week.  At the end of the week we'll talk about it again."

Curtis looked up at him, dark eyes resentful but resigned.  "OK."

"OK.  It's late.  Let's clean up and call it a night."

They worked in silence, gathering up the papers and sweeping up the remains of the coffee and coffee cups.  When they were done, Curtis stood back and asked, "Anything else, Warden?"  Briscoe shot him an irate look.

"No, that's it."

"Fine."  Curtis went to his briefcase and got out a stack of papers, setting up in the kitchen.

"What's that?"

"Work.  I told you I was taking in work from John Jay college, marking their first-year criminology class.  Can I do this, or do you think that's gonna send me over the edge too?" he asked sarcastically.  Briscoe blew out his breath.

"I forgot how much of a pain in the ass you are when you're having a hissy fit."

"So let me go home and you won't have to put up with my hissy fits."

"Give it a rest," Briscoe said tiredly.  "Enjoy your marking.  I'm going to bed."

===

Briscoe went into the bedroom and picked up the phone to call McCoy.  He dialed the number, then hung up.  He didn't want to think about what had happened and the doubts he was having, but realized he had to.

Briscoe went to his bedroom door and looked out into the kitchen, absently rubbing his throat where Curtis had held him in a chokehold.  Curtis sat at the table, absorbed in the stack of papers.  Briscoe sighed heavily as he observed Curtis, knowing he was going to have to do some serious soul-searching.  Knowing that it wasn't just a question of helping out a friend any more; he now had doubts about Curtis's innocence, his family's role in what had happened, and his own role as a friend and as a law enforcement officer.

What if Curtis was actually guilty?  What if it was guilt, not depression, that made it look like he wasn't fighting all that hard to clear his name?  And what would he do if he found more evidence pointing to Curtis?  Would he really hide it from the prosecution, trusting that it was all just a coincidence?

And what if one of Curtis' children committed the crime?  The more he thought about it, the more likely that seemed, and it wasn't going to be a pretty picture if he found evidence linking any of them to the crime.  Curtis hadn't answered when he asked if any of them had a problem with their grandmother.  Estela Curtis had been killed by easily traceable medication, but would a child know that it could be traced?  Or would a child like Serena just assume that her grandmother would die and that would be the end of the story?  And if that was the case, would Curtis want to know?

Briscoe suddenly wished he'd never offered to get involved.  This was a nightmare.  He felt like praying for guidance, for divine help to make all of this turn out OK in the end.  He went to his bed and sat down, leaned back against the headboard and realized it was going to be a long, sleepless night.


	4. Starting to Climb Out

**Chapter 4: Starting To Climb Out**

Disclaimer: Not mine, Dick Wolf's.  No permission, no profit, no money, yadda yadda.

_Monday, October 13, 2003  
5:30pm_

Briscoe entered his apartment and found Curtis already there, working at the kitchen table.  Curtis looked up as he came in, called out hello and kept working.  Briscoe shed his jacket and entered the kitchen.  They had been uncomfortable around each other for the last couple of days, ever since Briscoe had told Curtis that he couldn't go home.  Curtis was feeling confined, betrayed and mistrusted, and Briscoe was fighting with his own doubts and misgivings about the whole situation.  They were trying to coexist peacefully, but there was no easy camaraderie and it didn't help that Curtis' bad mood came out in irate little asides and digs.  It was beginning to get on Briscoe's nerves.

"More work from John Jay?" he glanced at the pile of work on the kitchen table.

"From the precinct," Curtis didn't look up.

"How'd that go today?"

"OK, I guess."

"How were your coworkers?"

Curtis shrugged.  "A couple people came over to say hi, some others were pretty obvious about ignoring me.  Cop accused of murder... I guess everybody's gonna react in their own special way."

Briscoe poured himself a club soda.  "You OK with the sleep and all that?"

"Yeah, I had a nap at lunch.  I do that most of the time anyway so it wasn't anything unusual.  Besides I think I'm finally getting used to this - I've been up for five hours now and I'm still OK."

"You had a nap at lunchtime?  Didja have any lunch?"

"Ham sandwich and minestrone soup, bagel with cream cheese when I came home.  Happy?" he said, voice cool and still not looking up.

Briscoe nodded, realizing that Curtis was probably interpreting his attempts at small talk as attempts to check up on him.  He took out his notebook and got on the phone, following up some leads he'd picked up that day on a new case.  They both kept working until Briscoe decided it was time for dinner.  As he peered into the fridge, Curtis looked up from his papers.  "You want me to do the honours?"

"What?"

"I'm the one who usually cooks at my house."

"Sure.  Go nuts."

Curtis filed away his work and made their meal.  As they sat down, he commented, "It's funny, I'm used to making enough for six, and cutting up two of the portions into tiny pieces for Tania and Deborah," he smiled briefly, but his eyes were shadowed as he thought of his family, scattered around the city.  "I hate it... but right now I'd give anything to be cooking for six again."

"You will," Briscoe reassured him.  "Any idea when Social Services is gonna do their evaluations?"

"Sometime this week, they said.  They're pretty backed up," Curtis' tone warned Briscoe to back off.  Briscoe made a mental note of yet another sore spot to avoid bringing up in conversation with Curtis.

"Did you look up support groups?"

"Haven't had time yet.  Maybe tomorrow at lunch."  Another sensitive subject.  Briscoe had made Curtis promise he would join a support group, but Curtis wasn't happy with the prospect and was putting it off.  Briscoe decided not to back off this one.

"Why not tonight?"

"How?"

"I have an internet account."

"You?" Curtis looked at him, amusement on his face.  It was a nice change from resentment and distrust.  "What, you finally leaped into the Nineties and bought a computer?"

"Yeah.  It's in the bedroom.  Go take a look after dinner."

Briscoe washed the dinner dishes and tidied up while Curtis went to use the computer.  Once he was done, Briscoe entered his bedroom and approached Curtis, who was at the computer screen, looking bored.  "Any luck?"

Curtis snorted.  "I typed in 'support groups Manhattan'.  Big mistake.  I've been deleting everything that's totally irrelevant for the last 20 minutes, and I'm still left with this," he gestured at the screen.  "A guy could do support groups full-time in this city."  Briscoe looked over his shoulder.  Curtis read off the descriptions. "Parents of brain-damaged children, parents of disabled children, people in the middle of a divorce, caregivers of people with MS, parenting skills group, parents of children who are in trouble with the law, depression management, anger management, grief management, suicide prevention, the list just goes on and on and on.  There's even Spanish-language chapters for some of them.  It's like a buffet table of self-help.  I'm a little disappointed though, there's nothing here for people charged with murdering a family member.  Or people in law enforcement facing jail time.  You think I could start one?" he said facetiously.

"A pissy attitude isn't gonna help," Briscoe told him.

"Look, I'm doing this.  Don't ask me to like it," Curtis shot back.

"Which one are you gonna go to?" Briscoe ignored his tone.

"I get to pick?  Are you sure I can handle that level of responsibility?" he said sarcastically.

"Just pick one," Briscoe said, getting impatient.

"I guess I shouldn't be yanking your chain; I was afraid you'd make me go to all of them," Curtis scanned the screen and pointed.  "OK, 'Mainstay,' for caregivers of people with MS - meets every other Thursday, next meeting is this week, and it's close by.  May as well get this over with."

"I'm sure glad you're going into this with an open mind," Briscoe snapped, tired of Curtis' childish attitude.  Curtis shrugged, wrote down the contact and scheduling information, and closed down the computer.

===

_Tuesday, October 14  
5:45pm_

"...so I'm gonna go around and talk to the neighbours, all the people Rey said knew his mother," Briscoe informed McCoy as they looked over the notes Briscoe had made with Curtis.

"You better let me handle this.  I'm his defense attorney; I have no obligation to let anybody know what I find out.  If you find any damning evidence, you'd have to tell."

"I can make up my own mind about what's damning and what isn't."

McCoy regarded him seriously.  "Lennie... this isn't a game.  This is serious.  If you find anything that the prosecution should know and you don't tell, you have no excuse.  You can't just say he's a friend of yours.  You'll be guilty of obstruction of justice."

"You can't follow all of this up by yourself.  You can't use your staff at the DA's office."

"As it happens, I can't, but I won't be all by myself.  I contacted Jamie Ross.  She's on maternity leave right now, but she's letting me use her firm for legwork and paperwork."

"So what can I do?"

"Do what you're doing.  Be a friend," said McCoy.  He paused.  "How's he doing?"  Briscoe paused, not knowing what to say.  "That well?"

"He's... better than he was.  I think."

McCoy sensed something in Briscoe's words.  "There's something here you're not telling me."

"No, no, it's nothing," Briscoe realized as soon as he said it that McCoy was not going to be put off by a dismissal.

"If there's something I need to know as his lawyer, you aren't going to do him any favours by keeping quiet."

Briscoe thought for a minute, knowing that he'd have to say something.  He couldn't tell McCoy that he had started to wonder, a small niggling doubt but there nonetheless, whether Curtis was innocent after all.  Better to direct McCoy somewhere else.  Although, now that he thought about it, he didn't know what would hurt Curtis more, pointing suspicion at him or pointing it at his family.

"You'll notice one area that's missing here is anything about his family."

"That doesn't surprise me.  You said you worked on this with him," McCoy said.  He narrowed his eyes.  "Do you think I should be trying to find out about his family?  Do you suspect anybody?"

"No, not really.  Just covering all the bases."

"Who?"

"His sister, for one."

"Green and Colton decided his sister didn't have any motive.  None of their mother's money was going to her."

"Unless he gets convicted.  Maybe she was mad at her mother for cutting her outta the will.  She had access to the medicine and to their mother.  Maybe she did it thinking he'd be blamed because the drugs came from his house."

"OK, I'll look into it," McCoy waited for a second.  "Lennie?  Who else?"

"His daughter, Serena..."

McCoy's eyebrows went up.  "You suspect her?"

"She's an angry kid.  She's broken the law before.  And it makes some sense, Jack.  I mean, any adult would have known the medicine would be traced.  Maybe a kid wouldn't."

"What motive could she have?"

"I dunno.  He didn't answer me when I asked if any of his kids had problems with their grandmother.  Suppose Serena's mostly angry 'cause she's neglected while Rey takes care of two cripples.  Imagine how she felt when she realized soon there were gonna be three."

McCoy nodded thoughtfully.  "I'll look into it."

"The thing is... I don't know if we'll be doing Rey any favours by looking into it.  Rey may not wanna know what you find out.  If it was your daughter, would you wanna know?"

McCoy pondered that for a minute.  "No, I wouldn't."

"Yeah.  Me neither," Briscoe sighed.  "I'll look into the suicide angle.  That shouldn't be too bad.  I'll have a talk with Father Morelli.  Maybe Rey's mother said something to him."

"That should be OK.  Oh, Social Services gave me their report this afternoon.  They didn't find any evidence of child or spousal abuse so he's free to return home and take over the care of his family, with a strong recommendation to continue the medication and seek psychiatric care for his depression."

"Well, that's good," Briscoe said uncertainly.  McCoy took in his hesitation and nodded.  It confirmed what he had been thinking.

"Lennie, if you don't mind I'm going to ask Rey not go back right away.  He needs to give himself time for the medication to take effect, time to feel better and more able to cope with everything.  His sister got time off from work, and she said she'll take Serena or Tania but not both.  I talked to Social Services and the woman they have Tania with is apparently one of their best foster mothers, especially with disabled children.  I think maybe she should stay there, Deborah and the three older girls go back to the apartment with Lisa, and Rey stays with you.  What do you think?"

"Yeah, good idea.  Let's see if we can sell Rey on it.  I'll bring it up tonight." Briscoe stood up.  "I gotta go, I'm doing the chaperone thing with Rey and his family again today."

"How did that go on Friday?"  McCoy asked.  Briscoe sighed.  "That well?"

"Serena's a difficult kid, Jack," Briscoe said as he left.

===

_Thursday, October 16  
9:42pm_

Briscoe arrived at the address Curtis had given him, a high school where the Mainstay meeting was being held.  He had offered to pick Curtis up after the meeting, at 9:30.  Briscoe entered the school, and soon spotted Curtis across the lobby.  He had his back to Briscoe, and he was leaning against a table that held the remains of a spread of coffee and doughnuts.  With him were three other men: a tall middle-aged redhead, an elderly man in a suit, and a short young black man.  They all had coffees and doughnuts, and the redhead was speaking to the small black man.  As he approached, their conversation floated over to Briscoe.

"... yeah, well, we're not monks, you know?  Now some of the guys here, they just take it extra-curricular-" Curtis made a disapproving sound, and the redhead continued, "...hey, it's reality.  Sorry if that doesn't meet with the approval of some of the saints among us," he winked at Curtis.

"No, no, it's just - been there, done that," Curtis said, shaking his head.  "Can't take the guilt."

"Right, right, so we talk about other options.  Tony, you missed this week's talk, but we get into specifics.  I mean, what's the point of being bashful, right?  A lot of us are already doing stuff that would gross most people out - injections, adult diapers, feminine hygiene, all that glamorous stuff.  So why get shy over sex tips?  Most of us went into a hell of a lot more detail with our buddies in high school if we were lucky enough to score." The other men laughed.

Briscoe reached the group.  Curtis noticed him and smiled, "Oh, hi, Lennie, this is Jason and Tony and Eric.  Jason and Eric are regulars; they've been bringing me and Tony up to speed."

"Sorry I'm late," Briscoe apologized to Curtis as he shook hands with the other men.  Curtis waved off his apology.

"Hey, Lennie, pleased ta meetcha," Jason, the redhead, shook Briscoe's hand.  "You're not late.  Meetings always go over when there's newbies.  And today we got two."

"So it went OK?" Briscoe asked Curtis.

"Yeah, yeah," Curtis looked relaxed and at ease.

"Hell of a session for the new guys though," Jason laughed.  "We always start a meeting with a particular topic, with a presenter, and then we just shoot the breeze.  Today's topic was 'MS and Intimacy.'  We're all supposed to share, but we let the rookies outta that one if it's their first time here." Briscoe raised his eyebrows at Curtis, who shrugged and took a bite of his doughnut.  "Yeah, your friend did pretty good.  Bit quiet, but aren't we all at first.  You'll get into it," he said to Curtis.  He turned back to Tony.  "So what you missed at the beginning was, Teresa did the 'Song of the MS Wife,' which makes you real grateful that you don't have MS if you're a guy.  Wouldn't you just love to get a penile implant?"  Squeamish grimaces all around.  "Then Chuck did the 'Song of the MS Husband,' AKA the 'Triple F and Double M.'"

"Triple F and Double M?" Briscoe repeated.

"Flirting, Frenching, Foreplay and Mutual Masturbation, with a rousing chorus of 'What a Friend We Have in KY,'" Jason rattled off.

"Molto largo," added the elderly man, Eric, with a gentle smile.

"It's no Kama Sutra, but what the hell, if you love her it'll do, right?" said Jason, elbowing Eric.  Eric chuckled and took a sip of his coffee.  Jason turned back to Tony, "Oh, and at the end of his talk he passed out a leaflet comparing different kinds of vibrators.  I've got a copy if you want one."

Curtis snickered at Briscoe's expression. "Now you see why I didn't want to talk about this with you.  Nobody needs that much detail about a friend's sex life."

"Well, 'MS and Intimacy' may be a tough topic to join on, but it sure beats 'MS Medical Breakthroughs.' That's a downer I always skip."  He answered Tony's questioning look. "It's pretty much useless unless you're Bill Gates.  Next session is 'Caregiving v. Careers.' Then after that, 'MS and Divorce.'  That's a guaranteed tear-jerker, there's always at least three or four divorces going on in the group, especially among the guys."

"You mean guys leaving their wives?" Curtis looked askance.

"It happens.  Guy gets tired of being a nurse, especially if his wife's got a really severe case.  Also, some guys really get put off by some of the stuff they have to do, you know?  I mean, the washroom stuff, dealing with periods, all that...it's not a pretty picture."

"Yeah, I am not looking forward to that.  We're not there yet, thank God... here's hoping for early menopause," said Tony.  Jason guffawed, then sobered and continued.

"It can also be hard knowing that it's just gonna keep getting worse until the day you graduate from nurse to widower.  It's not an easy decision to make.  We talk about it.  The other thing is sometimes the wife decides she doesn't wanna tie her man down to a hopeless marriage, he should live his own life, yadda yadda yadda, you know, self-sacrificing crap."  Curtis put down his coffee, frowning introspectively.  "Sorry.  Strike a nerve?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Been there, done that," Jason said grimly.  "Not a fun movie to sit through."

"You still married though?"

"I wouldn't be here otherwise.  I finally convinced her.  Took a long time, but hey, I had the will and I found a way.  There's hope," he said encouragingly.  Curtis looked thoughtful.

"Jase?  You coming?"  a young woman called out.

"Sure, yeah.  I gotta go, Marcy's giving me a drive home.  See you guys next time, nice meeting you, Rey, Tony, Lennie." Jason threw his empty coffee cup into the trash as he left, still munching on his doughnut.

"You ready to go?"  Curtis turned to Briscoe.

"Sure," Briscoe led him back to the car.

"It went OK?" he asked as they pulled out into traffic.

"Yeah," Curtis looked out his window.

"You gonna go back?"

Curtis was quiet.  "Do I have to?" he asked finally.  Briscoe sighed, disappointed, then realized that Curtis' tone had been neutral.  Maybe he just wanted to know.  And maybe Briscoe should show a little trust.

"No, you don't have to.  The deal was you'd try it, and you did.  What you do now is your own business."  Curtis glanced at him.

"You still pissed off at me about this?" Briscoe asked.

"A little," Curtis looked out his window again.

"You gonna go back?"

Long pause.  "Yeah, I think so."

"Good."

There was silence for a while.  Finally Curtis spoke, still looking away from Briscoe.  "Lennie, I know you're just trying to help.  I'm sorry I've been pissed at you, and yeah, you're right, this probably is useful.  It's just..." he swallowed.  "What I told you about, I told you in confidence.  You threw it in my face and then blackmailed me.  It's hard to take that in stride."

"You told me you wanted to commit suicide.  Whether you know it or not that's a cry for help.  What do you want me to do, just take some notes and walk away?"

"So you think putting me under house arrest is a way to answer my supposed 'cry for help'?" Curtis asked skeptically.

"You're being self-destructive.  You want me to just let you screw up any chance you have of being acquitted or getting your family back?"

Curtis was quiet.

"What would you do?" Briscoe asked him.

"I have no idea."

"Well, think about it."

===

_Friday, October 17  
9:32pm_

A babble of mixed English and Spanish greeted Briscoe as he arrived at Curtis's apartment to take him back after a visit with his daughters.  To Briscoe's surprise, Curtis hadn't put up a fight over McCoy's recommendation regarding taking some time away from his family.  Lisa had picked the three older girls up from their foster homes on Thursday.  Deborah had elected to stay at the nursing home, ostensibly to spare Lisa from the hardship of caring for her.  Briscoe suspected her real reason was to avoid Curtis, who was going to be visiting their daughters frequently.

Curtis let him know he'd be ready to go as soon as the dinner dishes were done, and Briscoe settled into the couch while Isabel showed him a new book she'd gotten from Lisa - something about a talking tomato and a cucumber.  It seemed the visit had gone well; Curtis and his sister were smiling and relaxed, Olivia and Isabel beaming and chattering excitedly, Serena nowhere to be found.

"Lisa, thanks for taking the girls," Curtis hugged his sister as they finished cleaning the kitchen.  She smiled at him and brushed his hair off his forehead.

"I wish I could have come down sooner, it's just bad with my boss, you know?"  He nodded.  She gave his arm a squeeze and said, "You need to cut your hair.  You can't look like a long-hair hippie during your trial."  He chuckled.  "I'll cut your hair for you, OK?"

"No thanks, I'll go to a barber.  I don't trust you with scissors."

"That was over thirty years ago, Nalo.  Boy do you hold a grudge."

"Nalo?"  Briscoe smiled.

"I couldn't say 'Reynaldo' when I was little.  It stuck.  And I don't let her near my hair because she tried that once.  It wasn't a good scene," he teased her.

"I was eleven!" Lisa protested, laughing.

Serena, who had appeared from the back of the apartment and stood glowering there for the last few minutes, broke in.  "How come Mom didn't come today?"

"Serena, I told you, your mother's gonna visit with you tomorrow," Lisa said patiently.

"Why not today?" Curtis and his sister looked at each other, and Briscoe could see Curtis' body language becoming defensive, bracing for whatever Serena was about to throw his way.

"Serena, she's coming tomorrow, OK?  She's visiting Tania tonight," Lisa said, trying to soothe her.

"'Cause you're here, isn't it?" she said to Curtis accusingly.  "She don't wanna see you."  Isabel started to whimper and Curtis reached out to her, drawing her close.  "What's she gonna do when you're home with us?  Is she still gonna stay at that place?"  No response.  "Mom's not coming home, is she?"

"Serena, I don't know," Curtis said quietly.

"Why don't she come home?"

He pressed his lips together and looked away.

"It's because of you, isn't it?  She don't love you any more."  Curtis flinched.  "Is that it?  She finally got tired of you cheating on her.  You screwed up so now we don't got a mother any more and we're stuck with you," she glared at him, disgust in her voice.  Curtis bit his lip and swallowed hard.

"Please, don't do this," Lisa pleaded with her, glancing at her brother worriedly.

"You fuck up everything!"

"Stop it!", "Serena, watch your language!" Curtis and his sister spoke at the same time.

"Why don't you even try to get her back?"

"I am trying!"

"If you're trying, then how come she's not here?"

"Serena, please..." Curtis tried to keep his voice calm, but he was quickly growing angry and upset.

"Stop it!  You're hurting him!" Olivia pleaded with her sister.

"I don't care!  He deserves it!  He drove our mom away!!"

"Shut up!" Olivia screamed at her.

"Go to hell!!"

Isabel started to cry.  Serena grabbed Curtis's arm and he shook her off.  "I hate you!  It's your fault that Mom isn't here!  It's your fault that she got MS!!  It's all your fault!!"

"Back off!!"

"Why?  You gonna hit me?  You want me to tell Social Services you hit us?  They'll take all of us away for good!  Serve you right!!"

"Serena, please, don't push me," he warned, letting go of Isabel and backing away from Serena, really angry now but trying hard to control himself.  She followed him, growing more and more strident.

"I hate you!!  I wish you were dead!!  I wish you got MS instead of Mom!  She'd take care of us, she wouldn't go around sleeping with other guys and doing drugs and getting her mom killed!!"

He backhanded her across the face.  Her head snapped to the side and she stumbled back, catching herself on the table, and Lisa screamed, "REY!!"

He drew in his breath sharply and stepped back from her.  He clenched his fists and looked down, chest heaving, then turned on his heel and left the apartment, slamming the door.  Lisa moved first, breaking the frozen tableau.  She grabbed Serena's arm and screamed at her in Spanish, shaking her.  Briscoe stepped in and pulled her back.

"Hey, hey, easy!  Get a hold of yourself!"

"How she can say things like that to her own father-"

"Look, calm yourself down and send her to her room or something.  I'm gonna go get Rey," Briscoe turned to leave the apartment.  Olivia stopped him.

"He's probably down in the boiler room.  When he loses his temper he goes for a walk or goes down there to cool down.  He'll be OK."

"Does this happen a lot?"

"With Serena?  You saw her.  She's a bitch, she's always making him lose it.  She likes it.  She knows he feels bad after."

Briscoe went down to the basement and found the boiler room.  He peered in.  Curtis sat on the floor, legs drawn up and arms clasped loosely around his knees, head back against the wall, eyes closed.

"Rey?"

Curtis sighed wearily, not bothering to open his eyes.  "Please, Lennie, I do not want to talk to you or anybody else right now, OK?  I just need some time to cool off."

"Are you gonna be OK?"

"If you mean am I gonna go out and do something 'self-destructive,' no I won't.  I promised you I wouldn't.  Now go back upstairs."

Briscoe ascended the stairs.  Lisa and Olivia were comforting Isabel, and Serena was gone, probably in her room.

"I'm gonna take him home.  Thanks for everything, Lisa."

"That kid.  I don't know how he puts up with her," Lisa said angrily.  "She's enough to drive anybody around the bend.  If she was my kid I wouldn't stop with just one slap."

Briscoe nodded, knowing Curtis probably wouldn't see it that way at all.

===

_Saturday, October 18  
1:12am_

Curtis and Briscoe had gone back to Briscoe's apartment.  Curtis had been subdued on the way back, thinking and looking out his window.  After they got back, he had marked papers while Briscoe returned some calls and got ready for bed, and kept marking after Briscoe turned in.

Briscoe woke up in the middle of the night, lying in his bed and wondering why he was awake.  A soft sound tugged at the edge of his hearing, and he got up and stood at his door to listen.  He heard a low sobbing, and looked out into the darkness of the living room.  Curtis lay on his side on the couch, arm thrown over his face and body shaking.  Soft shuddering breaths escaped from his throat as he wept.

Briscoe stood, not knowing what to do.  He didn't know if Curtis needed privacy, a safe place where he could lick his wounds and hide until he was ready to face other people, or if he was hurting and alone, desperate for human contact but not able to reach out.

He thought about the last time Curtis had broken down and how uncomfortable he had been afterwards, how embarrassed about losing control in front of him.  He decided to go back to bed.  As he stepped back, he stumbled on a laundry basket that had been left at the bedroom door.  He heard Curtis draw in his breath, startled.

"Lennie?" his voice was husky, raw.

"Yeah," Briscoe mentally kicked himself for his clumsiness.  "Sorry.  I was just going back to bed."

"How long have you been out there?"

Briscoe hesitated.  "Not long.  I didn't know if you needed privacy or company."

A low chuckle, ending with a sob, escaped from Curtis.  "I don't either.  Probably privacy," he said, and drew in a shuddering breath.

"Anything I can do?"

"Make the trial go away, bring Deborah back and get Serena to stop hating me.  Other than that, no, I can't think of a thing," he wiped at his eyes.  "I'm OK, just feeling sorry for myself," he said self-deprecatingly.

Briscoe stepped into the living room and sat on the coffee table in front of the couch.  He took in Curtis' tear-stained face, tired features lined with self-blame.  "Rey... you know, it's OK to feel sorry for yourself once in a while." Curtis didn't respond.  "Your life ain't exactly a bed of roses right now, there's no shame in being discouraged by that."  Briscoe paused, not sure how to express himself.  "But it looks to me like you're making things harder on yourself.  You're just seeing your failures.  You're not focusing much on the things you're doing right."

"Like what?" Curtis said disparagingly.  "What the hell am I doing right?  You saw what happened today."

"You slapped her.  Maybe a little too hard, but it's not against the law.  You never used to be anti-corporal punishment."

Curtis gave him an impatient look.  "I never used to be against a parent physically disciplining their child.  There's a big difference between a spanking and slapping your child across the face so hard you almost knock them down just because they said a few nasty words," he sighed heavily.  "Especially when... when what I wanna do is smack her face against the wall or shove her down the stairs just to shut her up."

"You didn't do either of those things.  I'm not excusing what you did, but... I was thinking at the time that it was kinda remarkable nobody's killed her yet.  I don't think I could put up with the stuff she says to you.  She's... she's not an easy kid."

"She's had a tough time.  She's just a kid.  It hasn't been easy for her, Deborah being sick and Tania taking up so much of my time.  She just... it's how she reacts to stress, that's all.  I shouldn't let it get to me."

"And here you are, defending her.  After all the crap she's done and said, you're still seeing it from her point of view.  You're still trying to do right by her."

"Yeah, trying.  Not succeeding," Curtis said bitterly.

"But don't you think you oughtta give yourself some credit?  Not that you should just accept losing it with her, but... can't you see you're not a complete failure as a parent?"

Curtis was quiet for a few moments.  He sighed.  "No, actually, I can't.  The failures are a lot easier to see than the successes, if there are any."  He turned onto his back.  "Lennie, I think I just need to be alone right now."

"OK," Briscoe nodded and stood up.  "Lemme know if you need anything, OK?"

"I will."

"Oh, Jack called.  He said he wants you to go to his place tomorrow afternoon to talk over the case."

"OK.  Thanks.  Good night."

===

_Saturday, October 18  
8:49pm_

Briscoe had gone to pick up Curtis after his meeting with McCoy, only to find that Curtis had left McCoy's apartment almost two hours ago.  He got a sinking feeling in his stomach.  He'd made Curtis promise he wouldn't go out for a week, and that week was up.  Briscoe suspected he was likely to get himself in trouble again, especially since he'd been unusually quiet and pensive after yesterday's visit with his family and his blow-up at Serena.  He cursed himself for not having laid down the law again and coerced Curtis into another week-long promise.  So now, against McCoy's better judgment, he and McCoy were looking for Curtis on the off chance that he might be at one of two bars he'd mentioned, Rosita's and Rosario's.

Briscoe and McCoy entered Rosita's.  They both felt somewhat conspicuous, as the bar was pretty obviously Hispanic and they were pretty obviously not, and overdressed to boot in suits and jackets.  The music pounded and a hubbub of voices, Spanish and English mixed, added to the noise.  They looked around for Curtis.  Nope.  Well, never mind, this had been a long shot anyway.

Then Briscoe spotted him, across the room, near the bar, listening to a giggling young blonde.  He had hung his jacket on the bar stool and was downing a beer, the young woman pulling on his arm to lead him to the dance floor.  Laughing, he finished off the beer and followed her, stopping when she turned and draped herself around his neck.  They started to move to the music, slowly at first and then rapidly finding the beat, dancing expertly to the quick rhythm.  She smiled up at him in delight, and he leaned and said something into her ear, smiling appreciatively at her graceful movements.

Briscoe tapped McCoy's shoulder and pointed across the bar.  McCoy nodded and they began to make their way through the crowd.  As they maneuvered through the swaying, spinning couples on the floor, other patrons blocked their view so that their images of Curtis and the woman were fragmented.  McCoy saw the woman leaning close and Curtis bending forward to hear something she whispered in his ear, then raising his eyebrows in amused surprise.  His eyes raked up and down her body and he grinned, spun her around and pulled her back in, a bit closer than before.

Their movements became more sensual and she ran one hand up his arm, coming to rest in his hair.  She leaned his head to one side and ran her lips up the side of his neck.  He dropped his head back, closing his eyes in pleasure, and from across the dance floor McCoy could see him gasp and miss a step as she nibbled her way up to a spot behind his ear.  Suddenly he wound his fingers in her hair and pulled her mouth in for a kiss, then ran his hands down her back and settled her more closely along his body, legs intertwined and still moving in time with the music.  They continued to dance together until Curtis pulled the woman away from the dance floor, and they stumbled towards the shadows on the side.  Briscoe swore as he lost sight of the couple.

When they finally made it to the other side of the dance floor, Curtis and the mystery woman had disappeared.  Other couples were involved in the shadows, and Briscoe felt distinctly uncomfortable.  This looked like a make-out area.

McCoy jabbed his shoulder and pointed.  Through the thick crowd Briscoe caught glimpses of Curtis leaning up against a wall, the blonde woman busily undoing his belt as they kissed passionately.  One of his hands was tangled in her hair and the other was sliding up under her shirt between their bodies as they moved together, still in time to the music from the dance floor.

She slipped a hand down the front of his jeans and he jumped, startled, then slid his hand out of her shirt, grabbed the hand that had gone into his pants and pulled it out.  He held onto her hand, still locked in an embrace, then broke the kiss and said something into her ear, shaking his head.  She giggled and nodded, then went back to the side of his neck and started to work her way down his chest.  He threw his head back, tossing his hair out of his eyes and staring up at the ceiling lights with unseeing eyes, panting as she slowly went down lower, then he closed his eyes and groaned, and with visible effort pulled her back up before she got lower than his stomach.

He claimed her mouth, then whispered into her ear again, shaking his head more vehemently.  She giggled again and teasingly slipped her hand back into his jeans.  He leaned his head against hers for a few moments, brow furrowing and chewing his lip as he warred between the pleasure of what was happening and the knowledge that it shouldn't be happening here.

Finally he grabbed at her hand again, crushing her to him, then pushed himself off the wall and moved them so that she was up against the wall.  He locked his mouth to hers again, then leaned her head back and began placing soft bites along her neck.  He quickly undid the top buttons of her shirt, then clenched his hand and stopped, pulling her shirt closed again.  He moved so that their legs were intertwined once again.  She gritted her teeth and hissed with pleasure, eyes closed, holding him close and moving her entire body against his urgently.  He slipped his hand back under her shirt again and she turned them so that he was standing once again with his back to the wall, breathing hard and looking down in between their bodies as she reached down again - and then Briscoe and McCoy finally reached their side.

Briscoe didn't hesitate, reaching out and tapping Curtis' shoulder.  He looked up.  Even in the dark of the bar, Briscoe could see that Curtis' skin was flushed, brow beaded with sweat, pupils fully dilated and eyes glazed with strong arousal.  It took him a moment to recognize Briscoe and McCoy.  When he did, his eyes widened and he caught his breath.  The woman, who hadn't noticed Briscoe or McCoy, pulled his hips against hers again and he gasped.

Curtis quickly grabbed both of her hands and held them, shaking them slightly to get the woman to open her eyes and look at him.  She did, making an inquiring noise.  Curtis cleared his throat and said something into her ear.  She lowered her hands, chest heaving and quite clearly irritated at the interruption, but quieted her movements and just leaned up against him, giving Briscoe and McCoy a quick, annoyed glance before settling her face into the side of Curtis' neck.

"What - what do you want?"  Curtis asked breathlessly.

"What the hell are you doing here?"  Briscoe asked.

Curtis blinked at him.  "Is this a trick question?" he asked.  Briscoe blew out his breath and McCoy looked away, annoyed.  "What the hell does it look like I'm doing?!"

"Rey, get outta here."

"What, now?!"

"You're gonna feel like crap tomorrow.  You know you are.  You're in the middle of a - case," Briscoe said, reluctant to say 'trial' just in case Curtis really didn't feel like leaving his new acquaintance, "and you can't afford to get into trouble."

"I will deal with how I feel tomorrow, when it's tomorrow.  Right now, leave me the hell alone."  Curtis caught his breath again and shivered as his lady friend, deciding the conversation was taking too long, chose that moment to bite at the side of his neck.  His pupils dilated again and he unconsciously leaned his head to the side, giving her better access, then pulled away from her gently.  "Lennie, this really, _really_ isn't a good time, OK?" he said, voice husky and unsteady.

McCoy leaned in.  "This isn't going to do wonders for your credibility during the trial, Rey," he pointed out.  He narrowed his eyes, taking in Curtis's appearance.  "Are you high?"

"Don't ask, don't tell," Curtis said in a hard voice.  "I'm a grown man and I know what I'm doing.  Nobody appointed either one of you to be my conscience, and I fulfilled my promise to you," he nodded at Briscoe, "yesterday.  Now get the fuck outta here!"

McCoy pulled Briscoe's sleeve.  "Come on."  Briscoe shook his head in disappointment at his friend's behaviour, and backed up out of Rosita's.

As they stood in the rainy street, McCoy dug his hands into his pockets.  "I told you this was a bad idea."

"I know.  I just hate to see him do this to himself.  I know how he's gonna feel tomorrow."

"That's his choice," McCoy pointed out.  "You're not his keeper."

"You haven't been there the day after."

"You of all people should know that there's nothing you can do to get another person to stop self-destructive behaviour if they don't want to stop.  And what he's doing isn't even self-destructive to most people."

"It is to him."

"He's just going to a bar and getting laid," McCoy protested.

"He's cheating on his wife.  That means a hell of a lot to him.  He's doing drugs.  That also bothers him.  A lot."

"Not right now, it doesn't.  You're not his father.  You can't control him, and you shouldn't try."

Briscoe nodded, acknowledging the truth in McCoy's words.  "Fine.  Let's go."  As they turned to leave, the door behind them slammed open and Curtis came out, looking flushed and still breathing hard.  McCoy raised his eyebrows.

"Why the hell did you come here tonight?" Curtis demanded, tucking his shirt in and zipping up his jacket.

"I was worried about you," Briscoe said quietly.  "Sorry, it's really none of our business.  Jack didn't think this was a good idea, and he was right.  Go back to your uh, friend."

Curtis shook his head.  "You guys are like Jiminy Cricket.  I can't go back in there now.  Besides, that girl would probably belt me if I did - she was about as happy to see me go as I was to leave."  He set off, then looked back at Briscoe and McCoy as they stood next to the bar.  "Are you coming or what?"

===

Some time later, they found themselves at the bar at a pool hall.

"So this is where you people go to have fun.  It's hard to tell," Curtis remarked.  Briscoe smiled.  It was an old joke from the days when they were partners, when Curtis had said he didn't understand why white men would go to a place with bad music, no dancing, and no women to enjoy themselves.

"Ed says the same thing," Briscoe commented.  Curtis looked away.

"Rey?"

"What?"

"You got a problem with Ed?"

"He arrested me, Lennie.  He took me away from my kids in handcuffs.  I know he was just doing his job, but it's a little hard not to take that personally."

"Sorry."

Curtis tried to lighten the mood.  "Besides, I feel a bit like Mike Logan did when he worked that case at our precinct, remember?  He said something like meeting ex-partners is like meeting ex-wives, which makes mentioning the current partner a bit like mentioning the current wife in front of the ex."

Briscoe and McCoy laughed.  "Yeah, that's a no-no," commented McCoy.

"I wouldn't know."  Curtis took a sip of his beer.  "Although I just might find out," he said bitterly.

McCoy raised his eyebrows at Briscoe.  "Deborah wants a divorce," he explained.  McCoy looked at Curtis.

"That's rough, Rey," he paused.  "She's not thinking of doing that right now-"

"No, no, she'll wait until after.  She wants me to be able to just take care of the kids without having to take care of her too.  That'll be a little tough if I'm in prison, which is where I'll be if she divorces me right in the middle of the trial," he spoke casually, not inviting any comments.  McCoy nodded.

"This place looks really familiar," Briscoe commented.

"I was just thinking that," McCoy agreed.  Suddenly they both realized which place they were thinking of, and as their eyes met they nodded.

"What?  Am I missing something?" Curtis looked from one to the other.

"No, it's just... it's not where we were, but it's a dead ringer for the bar we ended up at the day Mickey Scott was executed," Briscoe said quietly.  The three men were silent for a few minutes, thinking about that day.

"I never told you... I went to your apartment that day.  After I slept with that girl, the grad student."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah.  I needed to talk to somebody.  Then after Claire died, it just really didn't seem like the time to bring anything else up."

"Everybody was in the wrong place at the wrong time that day, from the beginning," Briscoe said bitterly.  McCoy took a sip of his Scotch, nodding.

"You still miss her, yeah?" Curtis asked McCoy.  McCoy looked at him in surprise.  Curtis regarded him steadily.  McCoy supposed there was no reason Curtis wouldn't have known about his involvement with Claire Kincaid, since Briscoe obviously had.

"It's been a long time," he finally replied.

"Do you?"

"Sometimes," he admitted.  "Not as much any more.  It's been seven years.  The first few weren't easy."

"Time heals and all that?" Curtis said bitterly, looking down into his glass.

"Something like that," McCoy downed his Scotch.

Curtis sighed and finished off the beer.  "Something like that," he repeated.  The bartender came and took their glasses, raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner.  McCoy and Curtis nodded.  Briscoe looked at them askance.

"I'm not gonna have to take care of both of you, am I?"

Curtis shook his head.  "This is my third.  I'll stop at four."

"You look like you've had more."

"Not alcohol, no," Curtis replied evenly.  Briscoe narrowed his eyes.  "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," Curtis said lightly.

"Where'd you get it?"

Curtis chuckled.  "Come on, Detective, it's everywhere, especially at Rosita's.  Don't tell me you didn't notice the smell in there."

"OK, then, why?"

"You oughtta know.  Makes you forget, not have to think, not have to feel.  It's a nice break."

"I hate to sound like a public service announcement, but drugs aren't a solution."

"No, but when there is no solution they sure take away the problem for a little while," he said with false cheer.

"And they make it worse the next day."

"It's not the next day yet.  Right now I'm fine."  Briscoe scowled at Curtis, who rolled his eyes and said, "Fine, I'll 'Just Say No' next time.  Oh wait, I already did say No once tonight.  And what a great decision that was, I coulda been with whatever-her-name-was right now and instead, here I am, the only spic in a Mick pool hall, getting preached at by Mr. Twelve Steps."

"Yeah, and you coulda been saying Hail Mary's all day tomorrow and feeling like a piece of crap for breaking your own rules again," Briscoe pointed out.

"Not my rules.  God's."

"Whatever."

"Gimme a break, OK?  Thanks for bringing me outta there and all that, but right now I am not in a good mood.  Trying to 'will' away a hard-on does that to me."

Briscoe choked on his soda water and spluttered.  McCoy smirked and downed more of his Scotch.  Curtis looked at them sourly.  "Oh good, now my sexual frustration is amusing to you.  Thanks a lot.  You don't know how hard it was to walk away from that girl.  Pardon the pun."  Briscoe laughed, glad that Curtis could at least joke about it.

"No thanks necessary," McCoy said expansively.  "Just being called Jiminy Cricket is thanks enough for me."  Curtis snickered.  When he spoke again, his voice was again deceptively casual.

"So Mr. Lawyer, how's divorce go?  What can I expect?"

"I'm criminal, not family law.  All I know is how mine was."

Briscoe and McCoy spent the next little while regaling Curtis with stories of their divorces, toned down because Curtis was not yet at a stage where he could poke fun at the subject the way they could.

"Did you get an annulment?"  Curtis asked McCoy.

"No, no reason to.  Neither one of us wanted to remarry, not in the Catholic church anyway."

"I hope Deborah doesn't want one.  I don't think I could do that, say that none of it was real, that our kids are illegitimate."

"You might want to, if you met somebody else and wanted to get remarried."

"I can't imagine that."

"Stranger things have happened."

Curtis looked thoughtful as he swirled the last of his beer in the glass.

"What?"  Briscoe prodded him.

"You - you've had more than one serious - I've only ever," he stopped, shaking his head and tongue-tied.  "I've slept with lots of women.  I've only ever wanted to marry one, I've only ever been in love with one.  I can't imagine anybody else."

McCoy smiled indulgently.  "You're young."

"Not that young.  We've been together almost fifteen years.  Before her, I had some casual girlfriends, but then she, she was - she was everything.  She still is," he added softly.  "I'm still in love with her.  I can't even imagine sitting here years from now, saying her name and not feeling that.  You know, just saying 'my first wife, Deborah'.  Or even 'my ex-wife, Deborah' - agh!" he broke off in frustration as tears welled up and his throat closed off. "Shit!" he swiped at his eyes angrily as Briscoe and McCoy looked away politely.  "God, how does anybody get through this without going nuts," he muttered.  He swallowed a few times until he had himself under control, then slid off the barstool.  "Anybody up for pool?"

"Always," Briscoe got up too.

"Great.  I love a preordained outcome."  Curtis picked up a cue.

"What do you mean?"  McCoy followed them to a table.

"You've never played pool against him?" Curtis asked.  "Are you in for a treat.  He's a pool shark, Jack.  Fun to watch, as long as you realize you don't have a chance in hell of winning."

McCoy smiled a predatory smile.  "Next game, darts then," he said.

Briscoe set up the pool table.  "Nah, I heard about you.  No way I'm playing darts with you."

"Hey, I'm the one who's gonna get my ass kicked at two different games.  So shut up and play pool, Lennie, and when you lose at darts, take it like a man," Curtis chalked up his cue.

===

That night, getting ready for bed, McCoy thought about Curtis and his case.  His meeting with Curtis that day had been productive; they had gone over some possible approaches for Curtis' defense, and McCoy had informed Curtis of what had come up during his investigation.  Not that there was much to share; almost none of the leads McCoy had been following up had come up with anything.  Nobody seemed to have any problems with or hold any grudges against Estela Curtis.  The woman had worked until the day she died, had been a good member of her church and a good neighbour, mostly keeping to herself but friendly and likeable enough when she did venture out.

Likewise, Curtis' sister Lisa seemed a kind, decent woman.  She'd had opportunity and means, but no real motive to kill her mother.  She hadn't known about the changes in her mother's will or insurance policy, but didn't seem to resent them.  She lived in Albany and her husband was an alcoholic, which was why she and Curtis had not considered her as a possible candidate to take their mother in when her Alzheimer's got serious.  The neighbours suspected that Lisa's husband was abusive, as did Curtis, but Curtis said that his sister had always denied any abuse.  There were no hospital or police records, no proof of abuse.  McCoy had tried to see if Lisa's husband could have committed the crime, but he had been at work at a gas station that night, in Albany.

The only real lead he'd found, he hadn't shared with Curtis.  Two neighbours and a teacher claimed that Serena Curtis had had a terrible relationship with her grandmother.  That she yelled at her grandmother, had pushed her a few times, spoke badly of her at school, and had deliberately broken some of her belongings.

McCoy sighed and got into bed.  He was going to keep digging, but didn't know what to do with what he found.  Would Curtis want him to follow this up?  What would he want if Serena were his own daughter?

McCoy turned over in bed, thinking about the case.  Unless he found something significant while digging around, it looked like this trial was going to be about Curtis' character, since there was only circumstantial evidence against him.  This was not good.  The prosecution would have no trouble showing that Curtis' character wasn't the best at the time of the murder, and it would be up to McCoy to convince the jury that the man they would look at every day of the trial was a good, decent, upstanding citizen who might have made a few mistakes but could not have killed his mother.

McCoy had observed Curtis' manner and appearance that afternoon and at the pool hall.  Taking into account that he was under the influence of marijuana and alcohol at the pool hall, McCoy still saw an improvement over his state a couple of weeks ago.  The time away from his family seemed to be doing him good.  The overwhelming exhaustion and sadness seemed to be lifting.  He was able to see humour in situations, make jokes, and had walked away from a bar and a one-night stand.  His emotions were still pretty close to the surface, but McCoy considered that an improvement over his previous state, so beaten down and exhausted that he hardly reacted to anything.  He just hoped that when Curtis returned home, things wouldn't deteriorate again, and that his problems with Deborah wouldn't derail him.  He needed Curtis steady during the trial.

He and Briscoe were going to have to keep him steady.  He was going to have to stay away from bars, alcohol, drugs, one-night stands, and anything that might not look good during the trial or send him into a downward spiral of guilt and depression.  McCoy sighed, wondering how the hell he and Briscoe were going to get a man who needed some kind of escape from a fairly difficult existence to try new coping mechanisms.

McCoy realized he now felt new respect for defense attorneys.  As a prosecutor, he never really had to worry about his witnesses' private lives.  If a witness didn't look like they would be credible to the jury, he just didn't call them up.  As a defense attorney, he didn't have a choice, he had to bring Curtis into the courtroom, had to defend his character.  He'd never really thought about that part of a defense attorney's job before.  This was part of why he was a prosecutor, because he didn't like feeling responsible for another person's behaviour.  And because he didn't like being responsible for another person's fate.

Firmly commanding himself to stop worrying about the case, McCoy finally fell asleep.


	5. One Step Down, Two Steps Up

**Chapter 5: One Step Down, Two Steps Up**

Disclaimer: Not mine, Dick Wolf's.  No permission, no profit, no money, yadda yadda.

By the way, if anybody has constructive criticism, I would love to hear from you.  I've received a few suggestions lately and have found them very helpful.  E-mail is

ciroccoj2002yahoo.com

_Thursday, October 23, 2003  
4:12am_

"Lennie."

Briscoe slowly woke up.  Somebody was sitting on his bed, gently shaking him awake.

"Wha?"

"Lennie?"  He opened his eyes, focusing on Curtis.

"Yeah?  What is it?"  Curtis stared at him, looking like he didn't know what to say.  "Rey, what's wrong?"  No response.  Curtis closed his eyes, then opened them and looked at him pleadingly.  Briscoe sat up, alarmed.  "Rey?"  He searched Curtis' face, finding no answer there.  Suddenly he noticed his service weapon on the nightstand next to his bed.  Not in the hall closet where he had left it.  He reached for it as Curtis watched.

"Did you move my gun?" Curtis looked down and nodded.  "Why?"  As he waited for Curtis to answer, everything suddenly felt surreal.  The grey light of pre-dawn, the extreme stillness of the world, not even any sounds of traffic outside, Curtis's unexplained presence in his room, his gun... it felt like one of those strange quasi-nightmarish European art flicks.

"Can you not bring it home please?" asked Curtis quietly.

Briscoe felt his stomach clench painfully.  "Rey, why did you move my gun?" He glanced at the clock.  "How come you're up?"

"I... I haven't gone to sleep yet."

"You been up all night?"

"Yeah," Curtis whispered, still looking down.  Briscoe tilted his chin up, making eye contact.  Curtis's eyes were tired, haunted, body tense as a bowstring.

Briscoe took a deep breath.  Curtis had been up all night, taken his gun from the hall closet, woken him up.  Briscoe didn't need a psych degree to figure out what was going on.  He put his hand on Curtis' shoulder, letting him look down again.  "Talk to me."  Curtis shook his head, trying to find words.  "You woke me up.  Tell me why."

"I was afraid to keep being alone.  I can't..." he trailed off helplessly.

"You were thinking of committing suicide tonight."  Curtis' face became expressionless and he closed his eyes and nodded, letting his breath out.  Briscoe felt some of Curtis' tension drain and felt a weird calm descend over himself as well.  OK, it was out now.  He looked at Curtis' head, bowed down, and gathered his thoughts.

First things first.  He checked his gun.  Loaded, which it hadn't been when he put it away.  He quickly unloaded it, Curtis watching his every move.  He put the ammunition in his pajama shirt pocket, and put the gun back on the bedside table.  He got up, motioning to Curtis to stand up as well.  Curtis allowed himself to be led into the living room.  "Sit," he indicated the couch, and sat himself on the coffee table in front of Curtis.  Curtis sat down on the couch and leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away from him.

"What happened?"  Curtis looked at him, uncomprehending.  "What happened today?  What triggered this?"  Curtis shrugged helplessly.  "OK.  Talk to me.  What have you been doing tonight?"

"I tried to sleep," his voice was dull, tired, his face blank as he looked straight at Briscoe without really seeing him.  "I lay there forever, but all I could do was obsess about... about everything.  Deborah, and Serena, and the trial... I kept trying to stop thinking about it but I couldn't.  I tried to pray, but I couldn't... couldn't concentrate," he took a deep breath.  "And I hurt so bad I couldn't take it any more.  I kept telling myself I just needed to get through the night but... but the night's really long, Lennie," his voice nearly inaudible.  Briscoe nodded.  He remembered that feeling well.

"I turned on the TV but I couldn't concentrate on that either.  I really wish you had something to drink in the house," he said softly.  Briscoe swallowed.  "Then I thought of your gun, I thought about how that would end the night pretty quick.  I know where you keep it.  Then I thought I couldn't do that, shoot myself with your gun, so I put it on your night table.  But you have some pretty sharp knives and a razor and there's a lot of aspirin and stuff in your medicine cabinet.  And the subway's close, that's quick too if you do it right.  It's nice having been a homicide detective, I know a lot about what does and doesn't kill a person," his voice was still dull, and it chilled Briscoe to the bone to hear him discussing this with such lack of emotion, like he might discuss what to make for dinner.

Briscoe examined Curtis' face, his normally dark skin pale, pupils fully dilated, his shallow breathing.  "Did you take anything?"  Curtis shook his head, looking away from him.  "Did you?"

"No.  I wouldn't wake you up just to keep me company while I died," he said softly.

"I don't know what you're likely to do any more.  We're gonna go to a hospital right now," he stood up.  Curtis stood up too and waited patiently while Briscoe got dressed.

"You know if they pump my stomach because of a suspected OD they'll wanna keep me in the hospital for psychiatric observation.  At which point I've lost my trial," he said conversationally once Briscoe emerged from his bedroom.

"I'm trying to save your life.  We'll worry about your trial later."  Curtis shrugged.  Briscoe thought for a moment, then put his hands on Curtis' shoulders and faced him straight on.  "Rey.  If you took anything, tell me." Curtis was silent.  "Think about the fact that your daughters need you, and think about the fact that suicide is a sin.  And think about this: if you say you didn't take anything, and I don't take you to the hospital and you die, I'll have to live with that for the rest of my life.  You'll make me a murderer."  He took a deep breath.  "Now.  Tell me the truth.  Did you take anything?"

Curtis met his gaze unflinchingly. "No, I didn't."  Briscoe's eyes bored into his, willing him to tell the truth no matter what it was.  "We can go to the hospital if you want.  But I didn't take anything."

Briscoe went to his medicine cabinet, trying to remember what he had in there.  He checked the bottles - aspirin, Tylenol, sleeping pills.  All seemed to be present, all more than half-full, except for the Tylenol, which had been low already and which Curtis wouldn't have used anyway if he was looking for a quick out.  He took a deep breath and returned to the living room, where Curtis was waiting for him patiently.

"OK.  Sit," he indicated the couch again.  "What do we do now?"

"I don't know.  I wasn't thinking much beyond waking you up."

"How come you didn't wake me up sooner?"

 "I was hoping I'd make it through the night on my own," Curtis' voice was low, defeated.

"What changed your mind?"

Deep sigh, bowed head again.  "I was tired and I was losing the fight.  I went out and started to walk towards the subway.  A car drove by and I almost stepped in front of it.  That's when I turned around and came back and woke you up."

Briscoe covered his eyes with his hand for a moment.  "OK.  Here's what we're gonna do.  I'll stay up with you.  We can talk about whatever you want or not talk at all.  We'll get you through the night.  And I'll call Jack at six."

"OK," Curtis agreed docilely.  Silence settled over the apartment.  Curtis seemed content with that, content with somebody else taking over.  Briscoe suddenly felt nauseated, shaky, out of his depth.  After a few minutes, Curtis lay down on his side and stared blankly out at the living room.  Briscoe looked over at him.

"Think you can sleep a bit?"

"No."

"You wanna talk?"

"No."

"Want me to turn on the TV?"

"Sure."

He turned on the TV and they watched infomercials and reruns in silence until it was 6 am.  He dialed McCoy's number.

"Mhello?" McCoy's voice was fuzzy.

"Jack, it's Lennie.  It's about Rey."

"Shit," instantly McCoy was fully awake.  "What's he done now?"

"Nothing.  But he almost offed himself during the night."  McCoy drew in his breath sharply.  "He woke me up around four.  I been staying up with him, but we gotta do something.  He's in trouble.  I don't know what to do any more." Curtis listened to all of this impassively, having given over control of his life to Briscoe for the time being.

"OK." McCoy thought for a moment.  "I'll call Skoda and we'll come over there."

===

An hour later, Skoda and McCoy were at Briscoe's small apartment.  Curtis, who hadn't spoken much since waking Briscoe up, watched them enter without much interest.  Skoda took him into Briscoe's bedroom.  Briscoe quickly brought McCoy up to speed, and then they sat and waited.

About an hour later, Skoda came out of the bedroom.  He joined McCoy and Briscoe in the kitchen, accepting a cup of coffee and rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"I gave him a sedative, so he's asleep now and should stay asleep for a few hours.  My training tells me he needs to be hospitalized.  However," he held up a hand to forestall Briscoe's immediate reaction.  "I'm not totally sure.  To be honest, my gut tells me hospitalization might be the worst thing for him," he sighed.  "He's improved over the last couple of weeks.  And I think he'll continue to improve.  That could be derailed if he's hospitalized."

"You call this an improvement?" McCoy said incredulously.  "A couple of weeks ago he wasn't listing all the ways he could kill himself."  He couldn't believe Curtis had gone from joking, alert and able to hold a normal conversation on Saturday, to this, in less than a week.

"A couple of weeks ago he was too tired and depressed to figure out how to kill himself.  Most people don't commit suicide when they're at rock bottom; they do it on the way up from rock bottom.  He's on his way up.  Unfortunately it's not a steady climb; two steps up, one step down."  He took a sip of his coffee.  "What you also don't know is that this isn't the first night he's spent feeling suicidal and waiting for the morning; more like the third or fourth since he's been staying here."

Briscoe closed his eyes briefly, appalled that he hadn't known.  That he hadn't realized that the mornings when Curtis seemed tired and unusually quiet weren't just the product of a poor night's sleep, but the result of fighting all night just to hang on until morning.

"The fact that he woke you up this morning is a good sign.  It shows he trusts you to keep him safe and feels an obligation to do his part in keeping himself safe."  Skoda paused to let that sink in.  "Anyway.  Hospitalization could be good; he'd be kept under observation, suicide watch.  However, it will definitely not look good during his trial, which is one of the main reasons he's suicidal right now.  He also may not react well to essentially being incarcerated again.  So the other option is to keep him here and let him keep coping the way he's been coping, until the medication starts to take effect."

"That's not a good idea.  His coping mechanisms include drug and alcohol abuse," McCoy pointed out.

"Alcohol is right out.  However..." Skoda cleared his throat.  "What I'm about to say is completely off the record, understood?"  McCoy and Briscoe nodded.

"There has been a lot of research into medical marijuana use lately.  Including its use in the treatment of depression.  Some studies link it to causing depression, but some link it to alleviating the symptoms, short-term.  I've personally seen it work in two cases of severe depression.  Now, it's still illegal in this country so it can't be prescribed, but there it is.  We all know he has access to it."  Skoda paused.  "On the record, I recommend hospitalization.  Off the record, if medicinal marijuana was legal that's what I would prescribe for him until he started feeling better, despite my doubts.  I told him what I thought.  He said he'll go with whatever you two decide."

===

_Thursday, October 23  
2:08pm_

McCoy looked up from a case file as Curtis stirred on the bed.  He had hardly even moved during the hours that McCoy had sat vigil, looking so peaceful and untroubled in sleep that McCoy could hardly believe he'd been on the verge of taking his own life the night before.  Curtis opened his eyes slowly, took in McCoy sitting on the chair next to the bed, and looked up at the ceiling with a sigh of resignation.

"How do you feel?" McCoy asked.  Curtis shrugged listlessly.  McCoy waited for a few minutes, but no comment seemed forthcoming.  Skoda had warned them that Curtis would probably be pretty wiped out from the sedative.  Finally he asked, "Do you want to know what's going to happen?"  Curtis looked at him without much curiosity.  "We couldn't decide.  We talked it over and over and couldn't agree.  We finally decided it's your life, you'll have to decide."

Curtis sighed.  "Jack, I can't.  I'm not doing a great job keeping myself safe or sane," his voice was low, filled with weariness and shame.

"Well, you're going to have to come to a decision because we can't.  Skoda said he explained both options to you.  What do you want to do?"  Curtis closed his eyes and thought for a moment.

"I don't want to be hospitalized."

McCoy nodded.  "Then you won't be, unless you make an attempt on your life.  And you have to promise to wake up Lennie if you're having a bad night.  No more trying to make it through on your own.  If he's too tired to stay up, he'll call me.  And if you need help of the illegal kind, Lennie will look the other way.  As long as it's not a daily occurrence." Curtis stared at him, nonplussed.  "It should come as no surprise to you that Lennie doesn't exactly agree with that.  But he recognizes that alcohol is a hell of a lot more addictive than marijuana.  Skoda wasn't all that enthusiastic about it either but he thought it might be better than hospitalization.  It's sort of the lesser of all evils."

===

_Saturday, November 8  
10:45pm_

For the last two weeks, not much of consequence had happened.  During the day, Curtis seemed greatly improved; he had shown up for work every day and was doing relatively well, visited his daughters every other day without major incident, and seemed increasingly stable.  He'd attended another Mainstay meeting.  However, he had also woken up Briscoe three times in the first week and once in the second.  They had quickly worked out a pattern of sitting and watching TV until Curtis fell asleep or until morning, whichever came first.  He never talked about what kept him up and after the first couple of times, Briscoe didn't ask.  They also never talked about the drug use, though Curtis did nothing to hide it.  As far as Briscoe could tell, Curtis had a joint about every three days or so, usually after a visit with his daughters or a phone call to his wife.  As far as Briscoe could tell, he hadn't seen Deborah in weeks.

Now it was two days after a visit with his daughters, one in which he had lost his temper at Serena.  No physical violence, but quite a few ugly words had been said on both sides.  McCoy and Briscoe had taken Curtis to another pool hall.  Curtis's eyes were slightly bloodshot and he was both more relaxed and more subdued than normal, which both McCoy and Briscoe took to indicate that he was under the influence.  Nobody mentioned it until Briscoe finally got sick of the careful pretense that everything was OK.

"What's going on with you?" he asked as he set up a shot.  Curtis looked at him, questioning.  "How come you hadda get high today?" McCoy and Curtis glanced at each other, a little startled at his bluntness.  He sank three balls at once, and looked up at Curtis expectantly.

"Nothing."  Briscoe gave him a look that brooked no bullshit, and he relented.  "I've just been thinking... I'm mostly feeling better.  Not so tired or depressed."

"Yeah, I've noticed that.  During the day, at least.  This is bad?"

"The problem is... what happens when I go home again?" Briscoe waited for him to continue.  "I told you what happened on Thursday; a couple hours with Serena and I'm already losing it.  It's taking me two days to recover, and that's with my sister there to run interference, and without Tania there.  What the hell do I do when I'm there full time on my own again?" his worry came rushing out, past the careful façade of everything's-fine.

"You don't think about it right now, is what you do," McCoy put in from the sidelines as Briscoe chalked up his cue.

"I have to."

"No you don't.  The whole point of taking time away is to get stronger until you can handle it.  And get some support in place for when you're back there again.  Of course you can't take Serena right now; that's why you're not in charge of her right now.  If you think about how you're doing at this moment, you're just going to get discouraged."

"One step at a time?" Curtis smiled slightly.

"One step at a time, one day at a time," Briscoe put in, sinking another ball.  "You're already a hell of a lot closer to being able to go back.  You're doing better.  You see it, we see it, your daughters see it.  And you've got that lady from your church who says she'll come and help you out twice a week, and I'll hang out and lend a hand.  You're not gonna be on your own till you're ready."

"And what if I'm never ready?"  McCoy and Briscoe glanced at each other and Curtis shook his head dismissively, indicating that he didn't expect an answer.  He cleared his throat and looked away, crossing his arms like he did when he had something to say that he felt very uncomfortable with.  "And what happens if I have a bad night?  What do I do, wake up Olivia?"

"Is that an option?" McCoy asked seriously.  Curtis gave him an incredulous look.

"Olivia's barely thirteen, Jack.  What am I gonna say, 'Hi honey, wake up, Daddy's gonna slit his wrists if you're not there to keep him safe'?  No thirteen-year old needs that."

"You can always give me or Jack a call," Briscoe pointed out, thinking that he'd never had much of a problem relying on his daughters to help him out when they were children and he was a drunk.  Probably why he'd been such a godawful parent.

"Lennie, I feel bad enough about waking you up when all I need you to do is sit with me for a few hours.  You gonna come cross town to hold my hand?  That crosses my limit."

"Doesn't cross mine.  I'm real familiar with not being able to make it through the night without help.  Other people helped me when I was getting off the bottle and I've done it for guys at AA.  I don't mind."  Curtis still looked skeptical, but thoughtful.  Briscoe took another shot, sinking the eight ball.  Another game won against Curtis, not that anybody kept score of his games with either of them.  Curtis gestured to McCoy, whose turn it was to step up to the pool table.

"You know what pisses me off?" Briscoe commented a while later, thinking of another topic that hadn't been brought up in the last few weeks.

"What?" Curtis set up a shot.

"One way you cope with your problems is going out and picking up when you get a chance.  Seems to me it should backfire once in a while if you don't get lucky."

Curtis looked up, a bit surprised at this turn in the conversation, then seemed to decide not to take offense and shrugged.  "Yeah, well, I'm not exactly looking for commitment, am I?  It's not that hard to find somebody who's looking for the same thing you are," he missed the ball and gave up his place to McCoy.

"Speak for yourself," Briscoe grumbled.

Curtis chuckled.  "Lennie, you go to pool halls.  I mean, look at this place.  There's one woman here and she's already with somebody.  This is not a good place to pick up."

"So Latino dance bars are the place to go?"

"Works for me."

"So what are you looking for?" McCoy asked.  He also missed and stepped back from the table.

"Escape, I guess.  A chance to not have to think about stuff, to forget Deborah and all that," he looked over the table, a bit disgusted at the lack of good shots.

"What if the lady in question asks if you're married?"

"I don't take off my wedding band, if they wanna know they can look.  Anyway, they're not looking for Mr. Right, they're looking for Mr. Right Now.  Married, single - doesn't matter."

"Do you look?"

"I do now.  A while ago I ran into one of the women I'd picked up at my church.  With her husband.  Talk about awkward," he winced at the memory and finally settled on a shot.  He took aim.

"What do you get out of it?"  Curtis looked up from the table and raised one eyebrow at McCoy, smiling slightly as if to say, Are you kidding?  McCoy chuckled.  "Beyond the obvious.  Why go back if you feel so awful the next day?"

"I dunno.  Something to do.  Something I'm good at - I'm a pretty good dancer," he sank the ball.

"You seem pretty good at pool," McCoy grumbled.  He wasn't doing well in this game.

"Why go back though?  You feel like hell the next day," Briscoe persisted.

"I don't know," he sank the cue ball and swore under his breath.

"Think," McCoy retrieved the cue ball and placed it.

"Why?"

"Because there's some reason why you feel the need to go out and have one-night stands - beyond the obvious, that is.  It's not going to look good if the prosecution can point out that you're still doing it during your trial, and it won't do your mental state much good either, at a time when you need to be stable.  Right now you're not going out because we've pretty much blackmailed you into staying in.  That won't last forever as a deterrent.  So think about why you feel you need to."

Curtis leaned on his pool cue.  "OK."  He sighed and thought for a moment, gazing off into space.  Finally he shrugged.  "I dunno.  Why does anybody have a one-night stand?  It's just something to do that feels good."

McCoy sank a ball.  "You need to find another hobby."

"'Hobby'..." Curtis snickered.  "Yeah.  Like what?"

"Pool?" McCoy missed.

Curtis laughed.  "Sure, Jack, I'm gonna take up pool as a replacement for sex," he shook his head and surveyed the table.

"What did you used to do for fun before Deborah got sick?"

"Stuff that costs too much money now," he set up a shot, a difficult one.  "Computers, movies, going out with Deborah..." he sank the ball, surprising himself.

"Sports?"

"Yeah, but I don't have time any more.  Besides, it's not... it's not just having a good time, it's... when I..." he stopped, put his pool cue down and shook his head.  "No, I can't.  Not right now.  Ask me after I've had a beer," Briscoe scowled at him in disapproval.  "One beer isn't gonna kill me, Lennie," he said, annoyed.  "I agreed with you that I was drinking too much, but I'm not actually an alcoholic, you know.  Don't project your psychopathologies on me, I have enough of my own."  Briscoe shrugged, letting it go.  Curtis cleared his throat and set up his next shot, effectively ending the conversation for the time being.

After the game, the three men sat at the bar.  Briscoe again brought up the subject, and Curtis looked at him thoughtfully.  "You know, this feels like confession.  Same kinda dynamic, me spilling my guts to somebody who isn't gonna spill back," McCoy and Briscoe both raised their eyebrows, and Curtis chuckled, noticing the similarity in their expressions.  "I mean, you guys know just about everything there is to know about my life, the good, bad and the ugly, and I just feel kinda... exposed, you know?"

"You know a lot about me, Rey.  You know I was a fall-down drunk, everybody knows that.  You were there when I cried like a baby after my daughter died."

"I don't know your financial situation, I don't know your sex life.  It's not that I wanna know, but... it's a pretty uneven situation.  Fortunately I'm stoned right now, so I don't really mind that much."  He took a deep breath.

"OK.  Why do I go back," he rubbed the bridge of his nose, thinking.  "I guess... it's the only thing I'm good at any more, you know?" he grimaced as soon as the words were out of his mouth, and tried to clarify.  "I don't do so well at work any more.  I'm tired all the time, I can't concentrate, I'm usually thinking about stuff at home... and then everything at home is difficult too.  When I go out I... shit this is hard to say," he downed some of his beer and rubbed his forehead.

"I _can_ dance.  I _can_ pick up a girl, give her a good time, forget the rest of my life for a while," he ran a hand through his hair, terrifically uncomfortable with the subject.  "When I'm with a woman, and she's... you know, she's having a good time because of what we're doing... it's not like anything else in my life.  I can feel good about myself, at least for a little while.  I can feel like, like I can do something right.  And if I've got enough alcohol or grass then... I get a few hours of just feeling good, no second thoughts.  It's like the beer and grass and sex just turn off my mind.  And for those few hours, it's worth it.  It's worth the guilt and the regret and all the stuff that comes later."

He looked down.  "I, I feel so bad most of the time that it's too... seductive to pass up.  I feel like... I feel like a man again.  And having a woman need me like that... I don't get that any more.  Deborah... she was always a really physical person.  That's one of the things that attracted me to her at first.  She was... she was uh, really, um, sensual.  It's a pretty powerful thing, somebody wanting you like that.  Now that's gone.  She won't even let me hold her hand.  She definitely doesn't want me to get close to her.  I don't have that, and I need it, I guess," he trailed off, thinking.

"One time I was at Rosita's and this girl I picked up said two of her girlfriends told her I was... a good lay," even through the uninhibiting effects of the alcohol, Curtis' face flushed with shame and he looked away from them, uncomfortably reliving that moment.  "I know she meant it as a compliment but I was... I was damn devastated.  I almost went home right then and there, and I didn't go back to Rosita's for months.  I don't want a rep with the bar crowd.  I'm married, I'm a practicing Catholic, the only person I wanna be sleeping with is my wife.  But... there was a part of me that thought, hey, at least somebody thinks I'm doing something right."

He cleared his throat, ending the confession.  "There you go, Lennie, you wanted me to focus on things I was doing well.  Found one.  I'm great at one-night stands.  It's my 'hobby'," he said self-mockingly.  "Unfortunately I have to be drunk or high to do it, otherwise the guilt eats me up, and I pay for it in self-respect," he drained his beer.

"I don't think this is what I had in mind," Briscoe commented.  He didn't know what else to say.

"Yeah, no kidding.  In any case, I don't see taking up pool as fulfilling that need.  Especially if I play against you," he nodded at Briscoe.

Briscoe and McCoy looked at each other, not knowing how to deal with what Curtis had just told them.  Briscoe knew he'd been in pain, that his self-esteem had been low, but hadn't realized how much Curtis needed to feel better about himself, how desperately he needed some kind of validation.  He didn't know how to combat that.  Especially since one of the things that had always defined Rey Curtis in Briscoe's mind was his cocky self-confidence.  It seemed that even the last few weeks, getting to know the man he was now, somehow hadn't shaken that image of Curtis in Briscoe's mind, until now.  Briscoe sipped his soda water, wishing there was something he could do to make this better, and knowing that there probably wasn't.

===

_Thursday, November 13  
9:35pm_

Curtis was sitting on the steps of the high school where Mainstay met, with Jason and another man, a nondescript young Latino.  The young Latino was talking through tears, and Jason had an arm around him.  Curtis was shaking his head, and as the man talked Curtis touched his arm in sympathy briefly.  As Briscoe walked up, he could hear the man's words.

"What am I supposed to do?  They won't even tell him I called... and he said before he left that he didn't want me to call..." he broke down again.  Briscoe stopped at a distance, not sure he should interrupt.  Curtis suddenly noticed him and looked over the Latino man's head at Jason.  He mouthed, 'I'll be right back,' stood up and approached Briscoe.

"Hi, Lennie.  Sorry I got you all the way out here... I'm gonna be staying for a while, OK?"

"Everything OK?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's just... today was MS and Divorce.  It was pretty... intense."  He looked tired, worn out.  "Like Jason said, it's a guaranteed tear-jerker.  There's about five divorces or separations going on right now, including mine and Vinnie's over there."

"Are you gonna be OK?"

"Yeah, yeah.  Jason's giving me a ride home.  We're just staying with Vinnie for a bit till he gets it together... he's in pretty bad shape.  His, uh, his spouse went back to his parents' place, they don't want Vinnie to contact him or anything.  Like MS isn't enough, he's gotta deal with their prejudice too."

"OK.  No problem, stay as late as you want."

"Thanks.  Sorry about the ride."

"Hey, you didn't ask, I offered.  No big deal."

Briscoe got back in his car, glad that Curtis was getting into the Mainstay meetings.  He knew from personal experience that it helped to not only have other people to turn to, but to know that you could help somebody else through their own trouble.  And sometimes it even helped to know that other people had it worse than you, at least in some aspect of their lives.

Briscoe chuckled to himself, mildly amused.  He'd been wondering how to help Curtis feel better about himself.  Maybe supporting other people at Mainstay could help.  It was kind of funny though.  Curtis, though he could be kind and gentle with children and crime victims, had never struck Briscoe as a touchy-feely kind of guy.  Then again, Briscoe supposed he himself probably wouldn't strike anybody as a touchy-feely kind of guy either and yet here he was, nurse-maiding his former partner through a major depression.

Besides, he could just hear Curtis' voice, if he mentioned this to him, laughing at him and saying, "Sure, Lennie, I'm gonna take up counseling other people as a replacement for sex."  Maybe not.

===

_Saturday, November 15  
1:01pm_

It was one of those spectacularly warm, sunny days that pop up in the dreary greyness of late autumn as Briscoe and McCoy walked into Central Park.  They had stopped by Curtis's apartment and been told by his sister that the whole family, including Deborah, had gone to Central Park for the afternoon.  Curtis had let his sister know exactly where in Central Park he was going to be, as she was thinking of joining them later, after she'd had a chance to recover from the week.  Briscoe couldn't help but notice that Curtis' sister seemed drawn and tired after four weeks of looking after the three older girls, without the strain of working full time or taking care of Tania and Deborah... and yet everybody expected Curtis to be able to return to all of that some day soon.  It made him wonder.

There was Curtis, with his family.  As they approached, he was pitching a baseball to Isabel, and he waved at McCoy and Briscoe as he spotted them.  Serena sat on the grass, engrossed in a book.  Deborah and Olivia were at the picnic table, Olivia cleaning up the remains of a picnic and Deborah holding Tania in her lap and reading her a book.  Eventually the little girl started squirming, and Deborah let her down.  She started to run off.  Olivia stopped putting things away and started to run after her, but Deborah nudged Serena with her foot and spoke to her.  Scowling and expelling her breath mightily, Serena ran to get her little sister, bringing her back.  The little girl wandered in between Curtis and Isabel, getting in the way of the ball.

"Hey!"  Isabel protested.

"Relax, it's OK," smiled Curtis.  "We've got all afternoon to work on it.  Here, why don't I take Tania and you and Serena practice?"

"Like I got nothing better to do!" protested Serena.

"I don't want to anyway," Isabel stuck out her tongue at Serena.  Curtis put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Sweetheart," he chided Isabel.  He turned to Serena.  "Well, it would really make my day if you'd help her practice.  She could learn a lot from you, you're a good pitcher.  Your choice," he said noncommittally.  Serena rolled her eyes and took the ball and catcher's mitt from Curtis.

"Fine," she started throwing the ball.

Curtis picked up Tania and put her on his shoulders, making her squeal with glee.  He carried her back to the picnic table, then handed her off to Olivia when Olivia indicated she was done clearing the table and reached up for her.  He joined McCoy, Deborah and Briscoe at the picnic table.  It seemed as though Curtis and his wife had come to some kind of agreement about being together and being civil to each other, at least in front of the children.  As Curtis sat down, Deborah held up a bag with medical supplies.

"Rey, do you mind?  I forgot to get them to do it at the home and I've got the shakes."

"Sure," Curtis took out a syringe and started to prepare it.  "So, not that we're not glad to see you guys, but why are you here?" he asked McCoy and Briscoe.

"Well, we're not here with good news," McCoy began.

"I didn't think so."

"Should I be here for this?" Deborah asked.

"If you're going to be in the courtroom with him," Deborah nodded, "then I suppose you may as well."  McCoy paused for a second, watching Curtis fill Deborah's syringe.  "You know my ADA isn't handling this case because she pleaded conflict of interest trying a case against her boss, so they've got another ADA, Silcox, doing it.  He's found another court shrink, who watched the tape of your interview with Skoda.  Now, Skoda's firmly on our side, he'll testify that there was no way you planned a murder.  This other psychiatrist disagrees.  He's on the prosecution's witness list."

"That's not good, is it?" Curtis set the syringe down, helped Deborah out of her light jacket and rolled up her sleeve.

"It's a setback."

Curtis nodded thoughtfully as he dabbed alcohol onto Deborah's shoulder, then picked up and flicked the side of the syringe and nodded to her.  She looked away but didn't flinch or make a sound as he quickly jabbed her upper arm.  McCoy and Briscoe both made involuntary sounds and Curtis and his wife looked at them in amusement.

"Sorry, I forget most people are kinda squeamish about needles," Curtis said as he finished injecting Deborah's medication and removed the syringe.  He dabbed the needle mark with alcohol and nodded to Deborah, who rubbed her arm briefly and smiled at McCoy and Briscoe.

"It doesn't hurt after you've been doing this twice a day for years, you know.  And he's had lots of practice, he's good at it."

"I'll take your word for it," said Briscoe, grimacing.  Curtis put the used supplies back in the bag and looked at Deborah's shoulder.

"What's this?" he pointed to a large bruise.

"Nothing."

"What nothing?  You've got a bruise."

"Nothing, nothing.  One of the nursing aides is pretty new, and he's... he's learning."

"Christ.  On you?  He hurt you, Deborah!" Curtis said indignantly.  Deborah set her jaw stubbornly and Curtis spread his hands.  "Fine.  Fine, you're the one who wants to stay there, fine.  I won't say anything about the fact that you're not being taken care of right," he said grimly.  Evidently they had been down this road before.  Curtis helped Deborah put her jacket back on, both of them containing their irritation at each other.  He looked away from her and changed the subject.

"So, about this shrink.  What does this mean?  Is it really bad?"

"Well, it's not good.  We're going to have battling experts.  The good thing is, Skoda's the one who actually did the interview, and he's also got much better credentials than their shrink.  Unfortunately, he also knows you personally.  The prosecution will probably bring that up."

"I think I met him maybe four, five times while I was at the 2-7.  It's not like we were best buddies."

"No, but the prosecution will probably try to accentuate the relationship and make it look like he's biased.  Also, he's been in contact with you since your arrest - they may want to bring that up."

"When was he in contact with you?" Deborah asked curiously.

"Just some consultation," Curtis said quickly, looking over Deborah's head at McCoy and Briscoe and shaking his head slightly.  Evidently he hadn't told her about Skoda's visit to Briscoe's apartment.  Deborah looked at him intently, sensing she was missing something.

"Rey."  He met her gaze, dark eyes guarded.  "What are you not telling me?"

"Nothing you need to know."

"What?  I'm your wife, if this has to do with the trial, I should know.  Do you want me to hear whatever this is in court?"

"You're not gonna hear about it in court.  And you're the one who's pushing the divorce on me, so don't give me this 'I'm your wife' crap.  There's no reason for you to know anything that isn't gonna make it to the trial," he said bluntly.  Deborah recoiled slightly, hurt.  Briscoe and McCoy squirmed inwardly, both wishing they were somewhere else.  Deborah backed up from the table and wheeled herself over to Olivia and Tania, not looking back at Curtis.  He rubbed his eyes, blew out his breath and called out "Sorry."  She nodded back at him, accepting his apology.  McCoy filled Curtis in on some other particulars about the prosecution's psychiatrist and what he would probably say.

===

A little while later, after Serena and Isabel had finished pitching practice and Isabel had gone to a public washroom with Deborah, a pretty young woman with a mobile pretzel stand approached.  Briscoe watched the girls eye the cart enviously and called out, "Who wants pretzels and pop?"

"Lennie-" Curtis began.

"My treat, girls," McCoy said casually.  "Let's get enough for everyone."  Curtis looked away, scowling slightly.  Briscoe and McCoy knew it bothered him that his family didn't have enough money for treats like this, that he hated accepting charity from his friends, but what the hell.  McCoy was here now, and a few pretzels wouldn't put a dent in his pocketbook.  The young woman running the stand counted out the pretzels and drinks and carried them to the picnic table with a friendly smile.  Curtis thanked her as she put his pretzel down.

"You're welcome, sir," the pretzel seller smiled flirtatiously before moving off, and Curtis smiled back and took a sip of his coke, following her with his eyes without being aware he was doing so.  Serena looked back at the young woman.

"She's not your type, Dad, she's not at a bar," she said nastily.

Olivia slapped her sister's arm.  Curtis choked on his coke, coughed a few times and put his drink down hard, jarring the table slightly.  He shot Serena an annoyed look.

"It was a joke, wouldja relax already?"

"You've got a painful sense of humor, Serena."

"Oh give it a rest."

"It's not funny."

"Rey..." McCoy shook his head, indicating he really didn't think it was worth the argument.  Curtis blew out his breath and dropped it.

===

Soon after Deborah and Isabel came back, three of Serena's friends appeared and the four girls skipped off to play double-dutch nearby.  McCoy excused himself, going home to work on other cases.  Briscoe asked if he should go too, but Curtis and Deborah, not looking at each other, both indicated that he was welcome to stay.  Briscoe got the impression that neither one really wanted to be alone with the other right now.  They stayed at the picnic table, watching the girls play together and making casual conversation, enjoying what would probably be the last mild afternoon of the year.

"Yeah?  Then you're fucking PR trash!" a shrill young boy's voice said derisively.  The adults and Olivia and Isabel turned to look.  There were Serena and her friends, facing off with three white boys about twelve to fourteen years old, evidently in the middle of an escalating argument.  One of the boys said something in sneering, heavily accented Spanish.  Curtis and his wife both drew in their breaths angrily as the girls shouted back at him.

"Kid knows just enough Spanish to be insulting," Curtis muttered, dark eyes glittering.  Briscoe started to stand up, and Deborah put a hand on his arm.

"Don't, Lennie, she has to learn to handle it.  Wait."  They waited for a few moments.  The argument grew in volume, until other people at the park started to notice.

"Stupid bandolera!" the boy screamed at Serena.

"Oh crap, he just called her a slut," Curtis said under his breath and started to stand up slowly as the children continued screaming at each other, then rushed to Serena's side when one of them called her a spic and she took a swing at him.  The boy went down and Serena pounced on him, hitting him again and again viciously.  Curtis grabbed her and pulled her off, and held her tightly while she struggled.  The boy, now sporting a bloody nose, scrambled to his feet and continued to scream at Serena and her friends.  The other two boys tried to look at his nose, and yelled at the girls as well.

"Crazy spic bitch!  What, you can't take a joke?" the boy tried to hit Serena, and was stopped by Curtis, who knocked his arm out of the way.

"Hey!  That's my daughter, punk! Lay off!" Curtis snapped at him.

"Dejame! Dejame!" Serena screamed at Curtis, struggling to free herself.

"There a problem here?"  Briscoe approached.  Curtis quickly motioned to Briscoe to back off.

"Fuck off, grandpa," said one of the boys.

Briscoe pulled out his badge.  "I didn't hear you right.  You got a problem here?"

"Lennie," Curtis said sharply, warning.

"Nothin'.  This spic was gonna beat us up 'cause his kid picked a fight with us," the older boy said, puffing himself up with righteous outrage.

"Yeah, I guess you're in real danger from an eleven-year old girl.  And this spic... he's a good friend of mine," Briscoe paused, "as well as a cop."  He nodded to Curtis to take out his badge.

Curtis gave Briscoe an indecipherable look and pulled out his wallet, flipping it open and flashing his badge quickly.  The boys quickly melted away, disappearing as fast as they could.  Serena and her friends laughed triumphantly and jeered at the fleeing boys, as did Olivia and Isabel, who had approached with Deborah and Tania in the meantime.  Curtis turned on Briscoe, furious.

"Nice job, Lennie.  I did not want you to get involved!"

"You gonna let those punks get away with talking like that to your daughter?"

"You gonna make sure you're around next time she gets called a nasty name?" he shot back angrily.  Briscoe was taken aback.  He opened his mouth to defend his actions, but Curtis cut him off, continuing forcefully.

"Listen, Lennie.  We are not 'Hispanic' any more, OK?  That's what you're called when you're brown but you talk and dress white.  We buy our clothes secondhand and we've all picked up Spanish accents, especially the kids.  We're 'spics' now," he said bitterly, "and if Serena can't handle that, if she picks a fight every time some piece of trash calls her a name, she's in trouble.  And you and me are not gonna be there to flash our badges for her, so she better learn to hold her head high and stay outta trouble no matter what they say," he looked down at his fuming daughter and her friends.

"Listen to me.  You cannot fly off the handle when somebody insults you like that.  You're gonna get yourself hurt or killed."  She refused to look at him, lower lip jutting out and fists still clenched.  He went down on one knee, still keeping a hand on her but getting down to her eye level.  "I know what I'm talking about, OK?  When I was first partnered with Lennie, we went to a biker hangout and some biker called me a spic.  I pulled my gun on him," Serena looked at him, pleased surprise on her face and admiration on the faces of her friends.  "Yeah, pretty cool, huh?" They nodded.  He shook his head vehemently.  "It was damn stupid.  I was lucky I didn't get us both killed, and for nothing, because some idiot biker called me a name.  You might not be so lucky."

"You want us to just take it?!  That what you want us to do?!" asked one of Serena's friends.

"You suck it up is what you do!  You don't give them the satisfaction of seeing they bothered you.  You keep in mind that you're better than any trash that can't see past your skin and your talk!!"

"He said I was part nigger.  I'm not a nigger!"

Deborah gasped and Curtis shook Serena, really angry now.  "And you don't ever, EVER use that word again!!  Be proud of your blood, but don't you EVER look down on somebody else's.  You do, and you're worse than those little racist punks, because you should know better!  And that goes for all of you!"  He glared at her friends.  Serena glared back at him, resentful and hurt.  He motioned to her friends to move off and they did, casting sympathetic looks back at Serena.  He took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair and spoke to her more gently this time.

"Look, I know you're mad, and I'm gonna assume you said what you just did because you're mad.  That's no excuse, but... we'll let it go this time," he rubbed his forehead wearily.  "It pisses me off too, and I'd love to pound his face in.  And you know what happens if I do that?  I go to jail and you all go to foster care for good.  And you, if you try to pound his face in, he'll either beat you to a pulp or call the police, and then you're in the hospital or in juvie.  And he's laughing at us, 'cause we're stupid spics who can't even take a joke," he said gently.  "Look... you're still on probation and I'm out on bail.  You get into a big enough fight, and we're all in trouble.  Is that worth it?  For a name?"  She looked down, and he reached out and gently lifted her chin up.  "It's just a word, honey.  It doesn't bring you shame.  It doesn't say anything about you.  It brings him shame for using it."

She deflated, and pulled herself out of his grip.  She started to walk off and he sighed and followed her.  He called her name softly, and she stopped.  He spoke to her in a low voice for a few moments, apparently asking her if she was injured because she looked at her knuckles and shook her head.  He finally gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder, let her rejoin her friends, and returned to the table.

Briscoe cleared his throat.  "This happens a lot?"

Curtis and his wife looked at each other and nodded sadly.  "Yeah.  Where we lived before, there wasn't a problem.  Whatever people thought, they didn't say.  But our new neighbourhood... it's not a pretty picture.  Lotsa racial tension, lotsa bad blood on both sides.  Damn West Side Story half the time.  It's pathetic."

Briscoe considered that.  When he had worked with Curtis, Curtis' Spanish accent had been virtually undetectable.  He realized that this was something else that had changed in his friend; the accent was very slightly more noticeable in his speech as well as Deborah's.  The children, with their more malleable speech patterns, now had noticeable accents.  And they all tended to slip from English to Spanish and back a lot more frequently than before.  He hadn't realized that yet another cross that Curtis and his family were now carrying was increased exposure to racism now that they had moved down the social ladder and into a low-income Hispanic neighbourhood.

"You know one of the teachers at their school actually called some students lazy spics?" Deborah said grimly.  "She's still teaching there.  A bunch of us parents wanted her out, but there's a teacher shortage so she's still there.  She watches her mouth now, but she still picks on the white kids to answer questions and picks on the brown kids whenever she doesn't know who broke her vase or stole her supplies."  Briscoe shook his head, appalled.  Serena's friends, apparently deciding the park was no longer a fun place to be, left and Serena rejoined the family, taking out her book again.

"Where's Tania?" Isabel suddenly asked.

"Over there - oh!"  Deborah exclaimed.  Briscoe and Curtis turned to look, to find that the little girl had found a mud puddle and was rubbing mud into her hair.  Curtis gave a low whistle.

"Shampoo!" said Tania happily.  Curtis groaned.

"Oh my god."  He approached the little girl, ducking when she flung mud at him.  "Pare, pare, no es para su pelo."  Tania pulled some mud out of her hair, then reached out to pat Curtis' face.

"Si?" she said.

Curtis quickly scraped the mud off his cheek, and started to chuckle at her unbelievably dirty face.  She grinned back and tried to touch his face with a muddy hand.

"Pare, pare, hija, quedese tranquila," he said, capturing her hands as she struggled and giggled.  She flung a handful of mud up in the air and it splattered Curtis, Tania and Olivia.

"Mierda!" "Shit!" exclaimed Curtis and Olivia at the same time.  Tania shrieked, "Mieeeda!"

Curtis clapped a hand over his mouth and stifled a laugh.  Tania, delighted by the reaction, repeated herself as the rest of the family tried hard to keep straight faces.  All of a sudden Olivia broke down and started to giggle.  Curtis gave her a stern glare, somewhat dampened by the suppressed laughter in his own eyes, then he also gave in and started to laugh, which prompted the rest of them to break down too.  Deborah shook her head at him in disapproval, again somewhat tempered by her own fit of the giggles.  "I'm sorry, Deborah," he gasped, "I guess I'm just quotable."

"Daddy, you shouldn't use language like that," Isabel scolded him, giggling.

"No sh - no kidding," he said, still laughing helplessly.

"If I said something like that you'd send me to my room." Serena said, somewhat grumpily even though she too had cracked up.

"Hey, if I have to go to my room Olivia should have to go too."

"Hey, she didn't quote me."

The baby continued to fling mud up in the air.  "Pare, pare," he said, capturing her hands and laughing, as she struggled and giggled.  A gob of mud slid down her face and trickled down her nose.  Curtis laughed harder, shaking his head in disbelief.  "Hija, por Dios quedese tranquila, no se mueva mas." She shrieked and tried to touch him with her muddy hands, and he finally gave up.  She gleefully hugged him and splattered him with mud.  "Ya, ya, muy bien, siga no mas."  He observed her making mud patterns on his jacket and shook his head, still amused.  He looked up at Deborah.  "Did you see where the men's room is?  I'm gonna have to get her cleaned up before we send her back to the foster home."

"Mieeeda!" the baby repeated.

"Oh, we really have to stop laughing.  She's still saying it.  We're gonna get in trouble with the social worker," Curtis sighed, somewhat sobered by the thought that he had to be answerable to somebody else for his own daughter's care.  "OK, sweetie.  Let's go get you cleaned up."

"Dad, let me," Olivia offered, "Don't take her to the men's room, I'm big enough to take her into the ladies'."

"Thanks."  Olivia and Isabel, still giggling, pulled their little sister to the washroom while Serena looked on in disgust.  She went back to reading her book.

"Man.  I don't think I've actually laughed out loud in a couple of years."  Curtis was silent for a moment, wiping as much of the mud off his jacket as he could and thinking for a minute. "Guess I really was pretty depressed."  Deborah looked at him and nodded thoughtfully.

"Yeah.  You were," she gave him a sad smile.  "It's good to see you smiling again," she said softly.

===

After the older girls had been taken back to Curtis's apartment and Deborah and Tania had gone back to the nursing and foster homes respectively, Briscoe and Curtis got into Briscoe's car.

"Ready to go home?" asked Briscoe.

"Yeah."

"Let's go then."

"Yeah, no, that's not what I mean.  I mean I think I'm ready to go home.  My home," he clarified.  Briscoe raised his eyebrows at him.

"I don't mean right now, obviously.  I figure everybody will probably need to get in on this, since I can't be trusted to make any decisions on my own any more," there was more than a trace of disgust at himself in his voice.  "But I wanna go home."

"You sure you're ready?"

"No, I'm not sure.  I'm not sure of anything any more.  But I miss my kids, Lennie.  I don't like just visiting them.  And I have to go back some time.  Plus..." he looked down, "I may not have much time left with them.  If I'm gonna go to prison I'd like to spend my last few days with my family."

"OK.  We'll call Jack and Deborah and your sister.  We'll work it out."

"What do you think?"

"I think you're right."

Curtis regarded him steadily for a few moments.  "Really?"

"You're doing better.  Just today, there were about a dozen times when you could've lost your temper with Serena, or those racist kids, or Deborah.  You kept your cool.   Actually you're doing better than when we were partners, temper-wise."  Curtis smiled slightly.  "Now we just have to figure out how to make sure you keep doing OK, and how to help you out if things don't go so good."  Curtis nodded.  "Besides, the trial starts December 8.  That's in, uh-"

"Twenty-four days."  Curtis's expression turned brooding, as it always did when he thought of the trial.

"-and I think you should be home and settled in by the time it starts.  And you've been on the anti-depressants for..." he trailed off, trying to figure it out.

"Five and a half weeks," Curtis supplied absently, still thinking about the trial.

"-right, so they should be kicking in, and it's been, what, about a week since you smoked up?"

"Five days, actually," Curtis frowned slightly, not happy with that number.  Briscoe looked at him sympathetically.  He knew it bothered Curtis to feel dependent on any drug, legal or illegal, to keep himself steady.  And he himself wasn't thrilled that Curtis was using an illegal substance either.  But the guy really needed to ease up on himself.

"Well, that's not that bad.  And it's a while since you woke me up-"

"Six days," absent tone of voice, Curtis just automatically supplying him with information while thinking about something else - probably the fact that he was still using drugs.

"-and that time wasn't even so bad, you fell asleep about fifteen minutes later.  By the way, what are ya, human calendar?" Briscoe asked, a little irritated but mostly amused.  Curtis had always been more than a little anal about times and dates.  Curtis smiled, acknowledging the ribbing.

"OK, how long since you've gone out to a bar?" Briscoe challenged.

"And went home with somebody?  October 11th, 35 days" Briscoe started to laugh, and kept laughing as Curtis continued, grinning at him.  "Went out and had my fairy godfathers rescue me from myself?  October 18th, 28 days.  Wanted to go out?  Right now."  Briscoe raised his eyebrows and Curtis waved him off, indicating he wasn't serious.  Briscoe chuckled and started up the car.

"OK.  Let's go back home.  My home.  And let's get you ready to go back to your home."

"OK.  Let's go."

===

**Author's Notes:** Once again, while the Spanish in the story is grammatically correct, it's probably not the actual dialect that Rey and his family would use.  I'm Chilean, and I'm not sure what Rey is but I am pretty sure he's not Chilean.  So some of the vocabulary and syntax might be a little different.

For those obsessive enough to need to know, here's the Spanish translations:

"Dejame!! Dejame!!" Serena screamed at Curtis, struggling to free herself.  
"Let me go!  Let me go!"

"Pare, pare, no es para su pelo."  Tania pulled some mud out of her hair, then reached out to pat Curtis' face.  
"Stop, stop, that's not for your hair."

"Si?" she said.  
"Yes?" (I know, I know, that one's pretty obvious)

"Pare, pare, hija, quedese tranquila,"  
"Stop, stop, daughter, stay still."

"Mierda!" "Shit!" exclaimed Curtis and Olivia at the same time.  
Instant translation courtesy of Olivia Curtis.  Naughty, naughty Olivia.

The baby continued to fling mud up in the air.  "Pare, pare," he said.  
"Stop, stop."

"Hija, por Dios quedese tranquila, no se mueva mas."  
Daughter, for god's sake, stay still, don't move any more.

"Ya, ya, muy bien, siga no mas."  
"Fine, fine, very well, go ahead."


	6. Going to Trial

**Chapter 6: Going To Trial**

Disclaimer: Not mine, Dick Wolf's.  No permission, no profit, no money, yadda yadda.

e-mail address:

ciroccoj2002yahoo.com

_Thursday, November 20, 2003_

_6:34pm_

As McCoy climbed the stairs, he heard music coming from Curtis's apartment.  Santana.  He knocked on the door.

"Yeah, come on in, it's open," Curtis' voice called out.

McCoy entered the apartment.  Curtis had been home with his three older girls since Monday, and things seemed to be going well.  Serena was at the kitchen table, doing homework.  Isabel sat on the living room floor, looking up at Curtis and Olivia.  Curtis held Olivia by one hand, his other hand on her waist, while she reached up for his shoulder.  Evidently McCoy had walked in on a dance lesson.

"Sorry, I'm a bit early," apologized McCoy.

"Yeah, yeah.  Be with you in a bit - Olivia's got a recital tomorrow at school and she's a little nervous."

"Don't mind me," McCoy sat down on the couch.

"Dad, I can't with him here," Olivia protested.

"There's gonna be a lot more people tomorrow.  Sweetness, relax.  You know the steps."

"Yeah, but I keep tripping."

"That's because you're concentrating on the steps instead of where I'm going.  Don't look down at your feet.  The steps are simple, you just need to follow your partner."  They moved a few steps, Curtis moving gracefully but Olivia stumbling into him a few times.  "Look, your partner gives you signals, whether he knows it or not.  Where he's heading, you'll feel it, on your hand and your waist.  And if his hands are anywhere else tomorrow, you know exactly where to put your knee."  They grinned at each other, and Olivia stumbled again.  "Here, you lead for a minute."  Curtis put Olivia's hand on his waist and held her shoulder.  "You decide where you wanna go, and tell me where to go."

Serena snorted.  "I wouldn't mind telling you where to go," she muttered.

Curtis and Olivia ignored her.  They moved a few steps.  "Good, good.  See?  You push at my waist, pull at my hand.  That's exactly what your partner does.  I don't have to watch your feet, I can feel where you're going."

Olivia suddenly let go of Curtis' waist and said, "Spin!"

Smiling and ducking low, he spun.  "OK, switch back.  Remember how it felt to lead." They moved a few more steps, Olivia clearly more at ease. "Good.  See, even if I'm not thinking about directing you, you can read my movements from my shoulder.  It's unspoken communication - the person who's leading does the talking, the person who's following does the listening."

"Then how come the guy always gets to lead?"

"'Cause guys made up the rules and we're not too bright," he answered her, and McCoy laughed.  "Plus we're lazy.  Your mom always said Ginger Rogers could do everything Fred Astaire could do, and she did it-"

"- backwards and in high heels," Olivia finished, smiling.

"Besides, the girl can lead a bit too, especially if her partner's gonna crash into something," he backed up, getting close to Isabel on the floor.  Olivia pulled on his shoulder and he stepped forward, grinning down at Isabel, who giggled.  "Good save."  They danced for a little while longer, Olivia gradually feeling more and more at ease and Curtis giving her a few more pointers, reminding her not to look down at their feet, spinning her around.  Finally they stopped.

"You feeling better about tomorrow?"

"Yeah..."

"You'll do fine.  You're a natural, just like your mom.  Deborah was an amazing dancer," he explained to McCoy with a smile, going into the kitchen for a glass of water.

"I remember.  You guys used to go out dancing all the time," Olivia said.

"Really?  Mommy could dance?"  Isabel asked.

"Oh yeah.  Your mom was a jock.  She ran, she taught dance and self-defense.  She could kick my butt any day, even when I was on active duty," he smiled again, then his eyes shadowed a bit as he took a drink of water, standing next to Serena at the kitchen table.

"Really?  Mommy?"  Isabel asked.

"Oh yeah," Olivia laughed.  "I remember you guys made a bet once about who would get flipped first, and she won, and you couldn't even stand up afterwards, you were laughing so hard.  You said you didn't even know what hit you."

"Yeah, she was so small, and there I am, big tough cop, flat on my a- uh, back... I wasn't even trying to hold back or anything.  She was just this force of nature." Curtis's eyes twinkled at the memory.

"I remember that," Serena said, "and you guys used to dance together in the kitchen sometimes, and go out running in Central Park.  She was pretty amazing."  Curtis nodded, eyes unfocussed, lost in the past.  "I wish she could still do all that," Serena said quietly.  Curtis looked at her warily, slightly tense as always around his second daughter, but sensing that she wasn't going to say anything hurtful right away.  She reached out and took his hand, still looking down at the table.  "I wish Mom was here," she whispered.  He put his glass down, slowly raised his hand and stroked her hair.

"Yeah," he said huskily.  "Me too."

"Think she's ever gonna come home?  Not just to visit?" she asked.

"I hope so."

"Think she's ever gonna walk again?"

Curtis closed his eyes and didn't answer for a moment.   He took a deep breath.  "No."  He opened his eyes.

"Is that how come you were with all those other women?  'Cause they could walk and Mom couldn't?"

Curtis caught his breath and stiffened.  He gazed down at Serena.  "Always have to twist the knife a bit, don't you?" he said softly.

Serena let go of his hand and picked up her pen again.  He sighed and rested his hand on her head for a moment.  "Sorry."  He left the kitchen.  "So, Jack.  What did you want to see me about?"

"I think maybe we should go somewhere else for this conversation."

Curtis looked around the apartment.  "Sure, I have to do some laundry anyway."  He picked up a couple of baskets and he and McCoy went downstairs.

===

Once they were in the laundry room, McCoy hesitated, having no idea how to say what he was about to say.  He had debated this back and forth all day long.  Indecision was not a familiar feeling to Jack McCoy.  Most of the time he took a few moments to weigh options and quickly settled upon a course of action that he stuck to, firmly convinced of its correctness, until the bitter end or until somebody convinced him otherwise.

This was different.  As a lawyer, he knew what he had to do, and although he wasn't familiar with defense he knew that his chief priority was to do everything in his power to acquit his client.  As a friend and as a parent... he had no idea what to do.  He watched Curtis sort clothing at the laundry room table for a few moments, feeling Curtis's inquiring gaze boring into his forehead.

"This is must be serious; I've never seen you speechless before," Curtis joked.  "Jack?"

"Serena knew about your mother's will."

Curtis put down a pair of pants, looking down at the table.  "What?"

"She knew.  Two of her friends said that she mentioned that her grandmother had changed her will to give all of her money to your family."  Curtis' face was devoid of any expression.  McCoy continued, "They remember it was before your mother's death because it was at a birthday party on September 14th."

"Whose party?" Curtis asked in an impassive tone of voice.

"Soledad Montos.  The two friends were Janey Suarez and Dolores Fitzhugh."  Curtis nodded, recognizing the names of the three girls.  He picked up the pants again and continued to sort laundry into piles.  McCoy looked at him.  He seemed to be taking this very calmly - until McCoy noticed that his hands were shaking.  "Rey?"

"Damn it, I just mended these three days ago," Curtis put aside a small pair of pants with a tear at the knee.  "Why are you telling me this?" his voice was still fairly calm, but McCoy heard an almost undetectable tremor.

"Rey..."

"Do the police know?"

"Apparently not.  My assistant at Jamie's office asked your daughters' teachers to list their friends.  Then she went and talked to all of them.  This just came up.  The police hadn't spoken to any of them."

"Sloppy investigating on the part of the police," Curtis commented.

"Rey.  This may be important."

"So she knew.  It doesn't mean anything," he continued to sort clothing quickly.

"It might."

He shook his head dismissively.  "She's eleven years old, Jack," he finished sorting and started to put a load of darks in.

"This gives her motive-"

"Stop," Curtis shook his head, back turned to McCoy as he loaded the washing machine.

"Think about it, Rey."

"No!" he shouted, turning and slamming his hand down on the table, making McCoy jump slightly.  "It doesn't give her motive!  If anything, it could prove I had motive - where else would Serena have found out about my mother's will?  If anybody else found out they could just assume that she heard it from me, that I knew."

"Did you?" Curtis glanced at him, a haunted expression in his eyes, then looked away.

"Is there anything else?"

"I know Serena didn't get along with your mother."

"Serena doesn't get along with anybody."

"Dolores said that she was happy your mother died.  Said that at least now you'd get the money and you wouldn't have to take care of 'the old bat.'"

Curtis covered his mouth with his hand.  Then he shook his head, pressed his lips together, and asked quietly, "Anything else?"

"Does there have to be?"

"I think you better go, Jack."  McCoy raised his eyebrows at him.  "Go.  Please."

"Are you going to be OK-"

Curtis made an impatient face and started to put a load of whites into another washer.  "Damn it, it's annoying having a diagnosed mental illness, everybody thinks anything bad is gonna set me off.  I'm not gonna do anything stupid.  Just go."

===

_Sunday, November 22_

_1:13am_

_Briscoe stepped into the water, trying to get the damn cat out of the pond.  But the stupid thing was green and it was making one hell of a racket.  A sound a lot like a phone, as a matter of fact-_

-a phone ringing.  Briscoe's eyes opened and he came awake instantly.  The phone.  What the hell time was it?  1:13am.  Who would call at this hour?  He picked up the phone.

"Rey."

Curtis' voice was steady.  "I'm sorry, Lennie, I was really hoping I wouldn't have to call you."

"Yeah, no problem, I'm on my way."

"No, no, don't come over.  I - I'm OK, I'm not suicidal.  I just... I just don't wanna go any lower."

"Rey, let me come over.  It won't take long, there's not a lotta traffic at this hour, and then you can go to sleep and not worry you might have to wake me up again."

"No, don't-"

"OK.  Listen to me," Briscoe said patiently.  "When you're having a bad night, you ask for help 'cause you're not thinking straight and you shouldn't be making any decisions, right?  So trust me.  I am thinking straight, and I can make good decisions.  And I'm coming over."  He heard Curtis blow out his breath in frustration before capitulating.  "See you in about half an hour."

===

Curtis opened the door for Briscoe.  "You really didn't have to come over."

"Eh.  Indulge me.  I worry."

Curtis shook his head, smiling.  "I don't have cable, Lennie.  We can't watch a game."

"Oh no, you mean we might have to make conversation?"  Curtis looked away, his smile fading abruptly.

"What happened?"

"Nothing I wanna talk about," he was definitive.

"OK, how are you feeling?"

Curtis met his eyes reluctantly. "Like I'm gonna jump outta my skin if I don't do something."

"Like what?"

"I'm not suicidal.  I'm really not.  I just feel like I'd sell my soul to be able to walk outta here and find some woman to spend the night with.  Just to get the hell away from everything."

"I thought things were going good at home."

"They are, they are, it's the case that's - no, I really do not want to get into it."

Briscoe nodded.  Serena.  McCoy had told him about his visit on Thursday.  This had to be upsetting, especially now that it seemed that Curtis and Serena were finally, slowly, working out some kind of tentative peace.

"How you been sleeping?"

"Mostly OK until the last few days."

"What have you done?  To deal with it?"

"Everything.  I tried to read, buried myself in work, prayed, tried to distract myself any way I could, but..." he trailed off.  He cleared his throat.  "There's only one thing I haven't done, 'cause I'm alone with my daughters here.  I - I can't be intoxicated if there's an emergency..." Curtis cleared his throat again.  "Lennie, I know you don't approve.  I... I wouldn't ask, and I'll understand if you say no, but... I really need a break."  Curtis looked down, twisting his wedding ring nervously.

Briscoe couldn't believe he was even thinking agreeing to this, but Curtis really did look as if he was going to jump out of his skin.  He looked drawn, tired, and tense as all hell.  And Skoda had said this could be an effective short-term treatment for symptoms of depression.  He wasn't sure he agreed - hell, Skoda hadn't even been sure, but they had agreed to give it a chance and treat it as medicinal.  And it had seemed to work so far.

"How long since you've done it?"

"Twelve days."

"Would you ever do it if you were alone with your daughters?"

"No way."

"OK."  Curtis let out his breath.  He glanced at Briscoe, grateful to him for agreeing, but ashamed to need this, and got up.  He got out a joint from a top cupboard in the kitchen, then opened a window.  "Man, it's cold out there."  He lit the joint, inhaled and held his breath.  He exhaled the smoke slowly out the window, grimacing.

"What?"

"I just really, really hate the taste of it.  It tastes like dirt," he said as he poured himself a glass of water.

"How long does it usually take to take effect?"

"I dunno.  Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes?" he inhaled again.  Briscoe unexpectedly felt a bemused chuckle rise in his chest.  Curtis looked at him questioningly as he held his breath.

"Sorry, just - if anybody told me when we were first partnered that one day I'd be watching you get high, I woulda asked what they were smoking."  Curtis choked a bit and laughed, coughing.

"Yeah, well we're calling it 'medicinal' now," he said sardonically.  "Like that makes any damn difference."  They were silent as he finished off the joint, taking a sip of water after each toke.

"Feel any better?"

He shrugged.  "I don't feel any worse."

"That's good."

He closed the window and rubbed his forehead.  "What time is it?"

Briscoe checked his watch.  "Quarter past two."

Curtis massaged a kink in the back of his neck and sighed tiredly, sitting down.  They started chatting and ended up playing do-you-remember with cases from their time as partners at the 27th Precinct until Curtis said, "Man, I wish I was still good at my job.  I miss that, taking pride in my work.  You know I've been on performance probation for over a year?  Yeah, every review period I'm this close to getting canned.  I've been doing better lately, but... almost two years of screw-ups to live down.  That doesn't go away real fast."

Briscoe smiled slightly.  "You're afraid some day some young punk is gonna say to you, 'You were a good cop.  Then you fell into a depression.  You climbed out, but the jury's still out.'"

Curtis cocked his head, narrowing his eyes and giving Briscoe a small smile.  "Some young punk said something like that to you?  Did you whack him upside the head like he deserved?"

"No, I just mentioned that he was kinda tactless," Briscoe answered.  He paused.  "Guess who the young punk was."

"Yeah, I figured," Curtis nodded with a half-smile, "I don't remember saying it, but it sure sounds like me.  You still remember?"

"It made an impression."

"You shoulda washed my mouth out with soap," he shook his head ruefully.  "Arrogant self-righteous little son-of-a-bitch.  What the hell did I know.  How'd you put up with me?"

"You had your moments."

"Another reason I don't have a service weapon any more.  I'd probably shoot anybody who said that to me."

"No you wouldn't.  You'd just take his comment for what it is: snap judgment by somebody who doesn't really know you.  And maybe you deserve it, but maybe the guy who's saying it might not deal with the hand God dealt you as well as you did."

"And maybe some day he'll be staring up at me from the bottom of a depression or a bottle too, huh?" Curtis smiled sadly, staring down at the floor.

"Maybe."

"So tell me, is revenge sweet?"  Briscoe looked at him.  The tone was light, but he could tell the question was only half-joking.

"No.  No, it sure as hell isn't."  Curtis looked up at him, startled by his vehement tone of voice, and took in Briscoe's compassionate expression.

"Thanks," he closed his eyes.  "Pride goeth before the fall, huh Lennie?"  Briscoe gripped his arm in sympathy.  Curtis' brow creased and he swallowed hard, then took a few deep, shaking breaths and nodded, indicating he was OK.

"What are you gonna do if you get fired?" Briscoe asked gently.

"Actually, it wouldn't be so bad, 'cept for what's left of my ego.  No, really, when they did the drug test at my precinct, I looked at what would happen and it wasn't that bad, financially.  Part of why we're so broke is I earn way too much to qualify for most government assistance."

"Yeah?"

"Believe me, we've tried.  We fall through every bureaucratic crack you can think of.  On welfare, we'd qualify.  And I wouldn't have to pay for babysitting any more.  Can't you just see me as a stay-at-home welfare dad?" he laughed bitterly.

Briscoe felt a pang of sorrow, imagining the Curtis family on welfare: even more grinding poverty, food stamps, soup kitchens, subsidized housing, social workers looking over Curtis' shoulder forever... it wasn't a pretty picture.

He shook off the image and brought them back to idle chitchat, marking time until morning.  He ended up telling Curtis about the latest sports events on TV, which Curtis had been missing since he'd come back home.  In the middle of Briscoe recounting one particularly stupid play, Curtis leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and sighed deeply, clearly off in a chemical haze and no longer really following the conversation.  Briscoe paused for a moment.

"So, what's it like?"

"What?" Curtis opened his eyes slowly, gaze dulled by the marijuana.

"Pot."

He half-smiled quizzically.  "You've never done it?  Weren't you around in the sixties?"

"It wasn't put into the water supply.  Not everybody did it.  I'm sure Jack did, but I didn't.  I was into booze even then."

Curtis leaned his head back again, thinking about it.  "It makes you feel a lot less tense.  Everything's a bit blurred, softer - feelings too.  Time gets a bit fuzzy too - one minute you're thinking of having a snack, then next thing you know half an hour's gone by.  Speaking of snacks, you want something to eat?"  He suddenly stood up and went to the kitchen.  Briscoe shook his head bemusedly.  Curtis picked up a peach and started eating it with evident pleasure, concentrating on the task.  He looked back at Briscoe.

"It's also... you ever been on a painkiller like Fiorenal or something?  You still feel pain, but you really don't give a damn about it.  Pot does the same thing - for me, anyway.  I'm still upset about this thing with Serena, but... I don't really care right now, you know?"

"So this is about Serena."

"Jack said... he thinks that maybe..." Curtis trailed off.  "Doesn't matter.  If she did anything, it's my fault."

"How do you figure?"

"She's an angry kid.  And she got that way because of me, from me either neglecting her or riding her case too much for stuff I shoulda been more patient with.  She got way that from me and Deborah not keeping our marriage together, because of me," he spoke in a detached manner as he sat back down, as if none of this really mattered all that much.

"You don't know that.  You and Deborah coulda had a picture-perfect marriage and she coulda been in perfect health and Serena might still be the way she is."

Curtis smiled at him humourlessly, shaking his head.  "Sure.  You tell yourself that.  Is that what you said to yourself about Cathy?"  Briscoe shut his eyes in unexpected pain, and Curtis swore under his breath.  "Christ Lennie, I'm sorry.  I can't believe I said that," he covered his eyes.  "I am so sorry.  That was totally... shit, I'm still tactless."

"You're not yourself right now," Briscoe said with difficulty.  Amazing how viscerally this could still tear at him, even after five years.

"That's no excuse.  No way I should say something like that to you," he shook his head in disbelief.  "I'm sorry, Lennie."  Briscoe nodded, accepting his apology.  Curtis thought for a moment.  "You know, when Cathy died I remember thinking I couldn't even imagine what it must be like.  If one of my kids died... god, I... I can't imagine it.  That would break me.  I really admired you for not falling off the wagon.  Me and LT were so sure you were gonna start drinking again."

"I probably would've, if you and Deborah hadn't taken me in."

"That actually helped?"

"Yeah.  That surprise you?"

"Well, sure.  We didn't really do anything."

Briscoe shook his head.  "Yeah, you did.  You got me through it."

"Papa!" a voice screamed from the girls' bedroom.

Curtis sat up, startled.  "Oh my god." He blinked rapidly and stood up unsteadily.  "Oh god, Isabel's having a nightmare and I'm high as a kite," he shook his head, fighting off the intoxication.

"Papa?"

Curtis quickly moved to the bedroom, reaching the door to the girls' room just as Olivia opened it.  "Papa, Isabel tuvo una-"

"I know, I know," Curtis went past her into the bedroom.

"Uncle Lennie?  What are you doing here?"

"Talking over your Daddy's case, sweetheart."  Olivia looked into the bedroom, where Briscoe could hear Isabel's voice being answered by Curtis.  He heard Curtis' low voice murmuring, then the little girl's sleepy voice answer back and finally silence.

"Is she OK?" Olivia asked as Curtis exited the bedroom.

"Yeah, yeah, go back to bed, honey."

"Are you OK, Daddy?"  Olivia peered up at him.  Curtis tensed slightly, but smiled at Olivia reassuringly and patted her arm.

"Go back to sleep, Olivia.  Everything's fine."  Olivia regarded him closely, frowning slightly.  Then she nodded guardedly and gave him a quick kiss, and went back into the bedroom.

Curtis collapsed back onto the couch a bit shakily.  "Oh man.  I don't care how depressed I get, I am never, ever gonna do this again.  Being high in front of the kids-" he shuddered.  "I feel like I'm gonna throw up."

"You'll have to find another way to cope."

"Like what?" Curtis asked, a bit despairingly.

"Pool?"

Curtis chuckled.  "At three in the morning?  Here?"  He put his head in his hands.  "OK.  OK.  I can do this.  I'll just tough it out."

"Just don't try to tough it out alone."

Curtis nodded.  He looked off into space for a while and abruptly said, "I don't wanna know about Serena and what she may or may not have done.  And I don't want Deborah to even have to think about it either.  She's been through way too much already.  I'm gonna tell Jack to forget about it."

"You really don't want to know?  What about being suspicious of her - don't you wanna find out the truth, if the truth is she didn't do anything?"

Curtis brushed his hair off his forehead, clearly torn.  He bit his lip and dismissed the topic.  "OK.  I can't think about this any more.  You wanna play cards?"

They played for some time, Curtis's attention wandering more and more easily until Briscoe finally put down the cards.  "You can't play poker stoned.  You can't bluff worth a damn."

Curtis snickered.  "Well, I'm being distracted by the fact that you're taking forever to pick up the cards.  And you're yellow."

"Ah jeez," Briscoe muttered in disgust.

"Sorry man, you are," he got a fit of the giggles.

"Go to bed," Briscoe said, amused in spite of himself.  Curtis was normally such a serious person, that it was kind of funny to see him like this.

"Yeah, OK.  Good idea."

"Think you can sleep?"

"Oh yeah," Curtis gave a small laugh.  "Right now I can hardly stay awake."

"Good.  You need anything, I'll be right out here.  Don't worry about waking me up."

"Thanks, Lennie."

"Don't mention it."

===

_Friday, November 28  
5:30pm_

"Yeah, come on in," Curtis' voice called out.  McCoy entered the apartment.  Isabel was sitting on a chair and Curtis was standing behind her, combing out her long hair.

"Ow!"

"Hi, Jack - stay still, Isabel.  You've got a nasty tangle here," he pulled carefully.  The little girl scowled at him.  "OK, it's out," he continued combing.  "What's up?" he asked McCoy.

"I brought you some paperwork to look at.  It can wait till you're done though."

"When's Uncle Lennie coming?" Isabel asked.

"Lennie's coming here tonight?" McCoy asked.

"Yeah, he's bringing my sister in from the station, he should be here any minute.  She's staying with me for the weekend, 'cause Tania's coming home."

"It's gonna be nice having the baby back, huh Daddy?" Isabel asked happily.

"Yeah," Curtis agreed, although he looked a little worried.  He finished combing her hair out. "OK, done.  How many?"

"Twelve."

"No way.  Six."

"Nine?"

"Deal," he started to braid a small section at the back of her head.  There was a knock at the door.

"Come on in! - no, Isabel, don't get up," he tugged at her hair and she sat back down.  Briscoe and Lisa walked in.

"Hey Aunt Lisa!  Daddy's braiding my hair for the party at Cindy's tomorrow 'cause she said we had ta have ringlets and I said I can't 'cause my hair's all straight but she said-"

"Sweetie, sweetie, stop bouncing.  Let Aunt Lisa get settled first, then tell her all about Cindy's party."  Lisa smiled at Isabel and went to put her suitcase in the closet.  Curtis finished the first braid, and Isabel handed him an elastic.  He tied it off and started work on the next braid as Isabel excitedly told Lisa all about tomorrow's party.

Lisa smiled at Isabel's chatter and teased her brother.  "How come in our family us girls got the straight-as-a-board hair, and you boys got the beautiful curls?"

Curtis chuckled.  "Want 'em?  Take 'em.  They're a pain in the a- uh, neck."

"Yeah, sure.  And totally wasted on a guy.  I bet you're gonna chop it all off."

"Like you said, can't look like a long-haired hippie during the trial.  Going to the barber tomorrow."

"Yeah, and lose the ghetto-mouth for the trial too, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"What's she mean, ghetto-mouth?" Isabel asked.

"Juries are more likely to convict somebody they see as a possible criminal.  If you're dark and speak English with a Spanish accent, like it's your second language, they're more likely to think you might kill somebody.  Speak proper English, and they're more likely to think you couldn't even think of it."

"But you speak English good.  You speak it all the time, it's not your second language."

"No, but I sound a bit like maybe it is, 'cause that's how people talk in our neighbourhood and I've picked it up," he told her lightly.

"You mean they might convict you just 'cause you're Spanish?" she asked indignantly.

"Sweetie, it's all about my character.  When there's not enough solid evidence, it comes down to whether the jury likes the defendant or not, and some jurors can be racist."  He tied off a braid, and started working on another one.

"That's one reason why I get to help choose the jury," McCoy explained to her, "to try to make sure none of them are racist."

"Serena and Olivia told me they're waiting downstairs for Deborah," Lisa commented casually, "How's it going with you two?" Curtis shrugged, not looking at her.  Lisa changed the subject.  "So what time does Tania get here?"

"About 45 minutes," Curtis tied off another braid.

"You staying for dinner too, Jack?" Briscoe asked.

"No, although it looks like it's going to be a full house anyway.  I just came to give Rey some paperwork."

"Yeah, I'm almost done here.  It is gonna be pretty crowded, isn't it?  The kids wanted to make a big deal out of Tania coming home though, so..."

"Daddy!" Olivia appeared at the door.  "The social worker's helping Mom up the stairs."

"OK, be right there.  All done," Curtis said to Isabel, who sat up and shook her head, delighted.

"Thanks, Daddy," she skipped downstairs with Lisa to greet her mother.  Curtis put the comb down and moved to the door, noticing as he did so that Briscoe and McCoy were both looking at him with identical thoughtful expressions.

"What?"

Briscoe hesitated for a moment, not sure what to say.  "Oh, I was just thinking... I never even got the Daddy thing right.  You're doing the Daddy and the Mommy thing.  I never woulda known how to braid my kids' hair."

"Didn't you learn how to make ropes out of long grass in Scouts?  Same thing."

"Yeah, maybe.  My daughters never woulda asked though, even if I'd been living with them."  He paused.  "I... I guess I'm impressed, that's all."

"Yeah.  So am I," McCoy agreed, surprising himself.  Curtis looked a little puzzled, not sure what the big deal was, as he left the apartment.  Briscoe and McCoy were silent for a moment, thinking about what they'd missed with their own daughters, both wondering for the first time if maybe they had something to envy Curtis for after all.  Then Lisa and the girls came trooping back in and the apartment became a busy hive of activity again.

Curtis entered the apartment a few minutes later, carrying Deborah and settling her into her chair, thanking the social worker for carrying it up.  Deborah looked pale and exhausted, and she greeted Briscoe and McCoy weakly as Curtis wheeled her into her bedroom.

"Deborah always tries to go up and down the stairs once a day, it's part of her therapy, but it really wipes her out.  She's probably gonna lie down for a while," he explained to Briscoe and McCoy as he came out of the bedroom.

Lisa clapped her hands and said brightly, "Well, it's about half an hour before Tania gets here... what say you girls come and help me pick up some ice cream?"  Delighted shrieks greeted this offer, and Curtis looked at his sister with affectionate exasperation.  "I'm their auntie, I'm allowed to spoil them."  There was a chorus of giggles and excited chatter as the three girls got their jackets and boots on, and a sense akin to the profound stillness after a storm as they exited the small apartment.

"OK, this seems like a good time," McCoy said, taking out the notice he'd received that day.  Curtis came to look at it.  "This is not good news," McCoy warned him

"When is it ever?"

McCoy handed Curtis the piece of paper.  Curtis read it and blanched, then sat down heavily.

"What is it?"  Briscoe asked.  Curtis tossed him the piece of paper without meeting his eyes.

"I've been charged with Public Lewdness."

"Crap," Briscoe muttered as he read the charge.

"Yeah."

"That son of a bitch Colton," Briscoe muttered, "Can they do that?" he asked McCoy, "It's a misdemeanor, it was weeks ago - don't they have to catch you in the act for it to count?"

"They both confessed to it," McCoy said quietly.

Curtis dropped his head in his hand and sighed deeply.  "Shit."

"Rey?  What is it?"  Deborah wheeled herself into the living room.  He looked at her and winced, shook his head and glanced up at the ceiling, not knowing what to say.

"What is it?"

"Deborah, don't worry about it.  It's just a minor thing," Briscoe said dismissively.

Deborah stared at Curtis, hard.  He flinched under her gaze, and covered his eyes for a moment.  Then he breathed in deeply, opened his eyes and said, "Can you guys leave us alone for a few minutes?"

"Rey, don't," Briscoe protested.  Curtis gave him a warning glare.  He grabbed Curtis's arm and pulled him into the kitchen.  "Are you nuts?" he hissed.  "There is no reason for Deborah to know about this, and you are just gonna hurt her if you tell her.  Remember what happened the last time you had an attack of unnecessary honesty?  She left you."

Curtis pulled his arm away.  "Yeah, well, we'll save a lotta time and energy this time, 'cause she's already left me.  And she knows something happened, something bad.  She's just gonna wonder what it is, and it's gonna come up at the trial anyway."  The last part was true.  Briscoe gave in, jerking his head to indicate to McCoy to join him in the kitchen, and Curtis and his wife were left alone in the living room.

Deborah slowly wheeled herself closer to the couch.  Curtis swallowed hard, rubbed his eyes, and glanced at Deborah nervously.  Then he took a deep breath, looked down and quickly spoke a few sentences.  She stared at him in shock briefly as he looked down, bracing for her anger.  She covered her mouth with her hand, then asked him a question, which he answered with a quick nod.  She rubbed her face and shook her head ruefully, then looked at his bowed head and gently brushed the hair off his forehead.  He raised his head, startled.  He asked her a question and she shook her head sadly and patted his arm, then motioned to McCoy and Briscoe to come back into the living room.

"So, this isn't good," she commented.

"No, it's not," McCoy said.  "It'll be brought up at trial, along with everything else, to cut down Rey's character.  This is mudslinging.  It's not even something that should be noteworthy - it happens in bars all the time - but they're going to use it for all it's worth.  I'll try to suppress it, of course, but this judge..."

"And there's a big fine.  We're living month to month as it is," Curtis added.

"So we'll apply for Medicaid again, Rey.  It's not the end of the world.  You made a mistake, it was stupid and you'll pay for it.  But we'll be OK."  Curtis looked at her, a little bewildered by how well she was taking this.  She patted his arm comfortingly.  "Relax."  He kept looking at her quizzically.  "Would you rather I yelled at you?"

"I - I guess not, but... I'd sure understand," he said with a small laugh.  She shook her head at him affectionately.

===

After McCoy left and Tania arrived, Curtis and Lisa served a simple meal, hamburgers and fries.  The girls were in a festive mood, happy to have their sister back home, and Briscoe found himself enjoying the meal.  For once, it seemed all the underlying tensions within the family had been set aside.  Once dinner was eaten and the girls had gone outside to play in the first snow of the season with Lisa, Deborah went to lie down and Briscoe and Curtis cleaned up.

"How you feeling about the trial?" Briscoe asked as he brought in the last of the dishes.

Curtis put them in the sink.  "I can't believe it starts in ten days.  I keep going back and forth between wishing it was over so I can get on with my life and hoping it gets drawn out as long as possible, you know?  I mean... all Jack needs to do is make the jurors see that it's all circumstantial, plant enough doubt in their minds... but... what if they don't buy it?  I mean, when I was a detective, this much evidence woulda convinced me.  Guy has no money, life's falling apart, mom's about to add to that, and then she just conveniently dies and leaves him everything?  Dies from a drug that he has?  As a cop, I woulda been sold."

Briscoe nodded, knowing he would have been too.

"The only thing that's not explained is the alcohol, how I got her to drink that night.  But that's easy to explain if you think I'm lying when I say she didn't normally drink.  And if you don't believe me about killing her, it's easy to not believe me about her drinking."

"Yeah."

Curtis washed a couple of plates.  "Do you remember, back when we were partners, we had a case with a quadriplegic kid?  Michael Sutter.  It was after Deborah was diagnosed."

"I remember, yeah."

"Remember we found that the kid was a huge burden on his family - the whole family was falling apart, and he died from hemlock poisoning, and the father had access to hemlock.  Pretty much the same situation as me, motive and access to the murder weapon, but no actual connection or confession.  We all thought he was guilty.  He probably woulda been convicted.  And now I'm pretty much where he was then."

Briscoe nodded, thinking about the case.  What he'd never forgotten was that Curtis had conducted an interrogation that had left Briscoe feeling depressed as hell for his partner's sake, and the guy still hadn't confessed.  Because, as it later turned out, he wasn't guilty.

"I remember interrogating him," Curtis said, his eyes distant, the dishes forgotten for the moment.  "I really thought this guy was guilty, and I was supposed to be the 'good cop'... so I thought, what the hell, I can show this guy I know where he's coming from, disabled family member and all that."  Briscoe nodded, remembering that he'd been the bad cop and had said things to the man that he now regretted.  Just doing his job, but...

"I really thought I could do it without being affected by it, but by the time you arrested him, I was a wreck.  Took me a long time to get it together.  For as long as we were working that case, I just... I kept thinking, my God, what am I gonna do if Deborah's like that kid, years from now?  What if her mind goes?  MS does that sometimes.  I mean, she was already losing so much that used to be so important to her, she was already in pain.  I kept thinking, what would I do if I was where Joe Sutter is now?  If my family was going to hell the way his is?" Curtis scrubbed at a pot for a moment, thinking.

"I believe in the sanctity of life, Lennie, I believe only God can decide when a human being is gonna die.  But to this day I don't know if I could really let Deborah suffer on and on like that.  I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do the day I see she might be better off dead.  Every day I pray she never gets there, but... God hasn't been answering too many of my prayers lately.  And I don't know what I woulda done if my mother had gotten to that point with her Alzheimer's."  He finished washing the dishes and drained the sink.  "And if I was on that jury, I'd convict me."

===

_Monday, December 8_

_9:30am_

Briscoe had stopped by court for the first day of Curtis' trial and chatted briefly with Curtis and McCoy before court opened.  Seeing Curtis in a business suit, hair cut conservatively short again, and outwardly only mildly nervous, it was easy for Briscoe to get a sense of déjà vu.  This could be just another regular court date - he and Curtis testifying for one of McCoy's cases.  It kept hitting Briscoe as an unpleasant shock whenever he was reminded that this wasn't any other case.  McCoy wasn't trying to convict.  And Curtis wasn't just here to testify - he was here to defend himself from a charge of murder.  If they lost, it wasn't just going to be a waste of their time and the taxpayer's money.  Curtis would lose everything he'd worked so hard to get back and more.

And he was doing so well at home.  Briscoe had come by every two or three days, and found the family noisy and busy, but overall, functional.  Curtis still had a huge amount of work to do, but he was letting the older girls pick up more of the housework and he still had help from one of the parishioners from his church twice a week, as well as some respite care for Tania from the city.  It seemed to make a big difference.  Curtis and Serena still fought frequently, but at least now there were breaks in the hostility and the fights weren't as heart-wrenching.  And Briscoe had been back to Curtis' place late at night only twice in the last two weeks.

"All rise.  Criminal Court Part 45.  The Honourable Evelyn Greico presiding."

After the official business was conducted, Silcox made his opening statement.

"This is a simple case.  There is the defendant, Reynaldo Curtis.  He's charged with killing his mother, Estela Curtis.  Why?  Because he had the means, motive, and opportunity.  Three things that police look for in a suspect.  The means?  Estela Curtis died from a drug overdose, from a drug prescribed to Mr. Curtis' wife.  Motives?  Two.  The first: she had just changed her will and her life insurance policy and named him sole benefactor, and his family desperately needed the money.  The second:  she had Alzheimer's, and Mr. Curtis was already overburdened taking care of too many people to take on the care of an Alzheimer's patient as well.  Opportunity?  On the night of his mother's death, his whereabouts are unaccounted for, for three hours.  Plenty of time for him to kill her."  Silcox stood in front of the jury.

"Now, this week you're going to hear from a number of people who like Rey Curtis very much.  And they'll tell you all about how hard his life has been, and it is a sad story.  His wife has Multiple Sclerosis, his youngest daughter is brain damaged, he has three other young children, his family has no money, and he has been clinically depressed for a long time.  And nobody's going to ask you to not feel compassion for this man.  But while you feel compassion for him, don't forget that we're here because he has been charged with murder.  The taking of a human life.  That's not forgivable no matter how much compassion we feel for the murderer.  Because ultimately, our greatest compassion must go to his victim."  Silcox gazed at the jury for a moment, then sat down.

McCoy looked at Silcox pensively for a moment, then stood and approached the jury.  "Mr. Silcox is right, this is a simple case.  Simple, because there is absolutely nothing to tie my client to his mother's death except circumstantial evidence.  Yes, she died of a drug that was prescribed for his wife.  But Estela Curtis had access to it too.  Yes, Mr. Curtis' whereabouts are unaccounted for that night, for three hours.  But there is not one shred of evidence that he was anywhere near his mother's place during that time, and plenty of evidence that he was in no condition to commit a crime that night.  In fact, there's no real evidence that any crime was committed.  For all anybody knows, Estela Curtis' death could have been suicide.  And to convict my client of murder, you have to have just a little bit more than just means, motive and opportunity.  You have to have solid evidence."

===

_Monday, December 8_

_6:45pm_

Briscoe called McCoy later that night.  "How'd it go?"

"Pretty good.  Silcox is good, but he's hardly inspired.  Judge Greico is a prosecutor's dream in pre-trial.  She hasn't let me suppress a single thing except the Public Lewdness charge."

"That's something, isn't it?"

"Well, it helps that the jury doesn't know Rey's already pled guilty to a crime, even if it is a misdemeanor.  That would probably bias them a fair bit.  But Rita Johannes takes the stand this week and she'll probably testify about everything that happened that night anyway."

"Too bad."

"At least now that we're at trial I'm on more even footing.  Greico's a prosecutor's judge at pre-trial, but she's fair at trial."

"How's Rey?"

"Mostly OK."

"Mostly?"

"Well, the whole trial is about his character.  It's not going to be easy for Rey to sit through."

"I'd probably go back to the bottle if I had to sit through a trial about my character," Briscoe commented dryly.

"This week is slated for the prosecution - their forensic and police witnesses, the bartender at Rosario's, Rita Johannes, then their character witnesses.  We won't be up until at least the middle of next week.  I'd like to meet with you and Rey on Saturday, to talk about whether we'd like you to take the stand or not."

===

_Wednesday, December 10_

_11:45pm_

"Mr. Curtis?"  Curtis turned around, surprised to find Rita Johannes hesitantly facing him in the hallway outside the courtroom.  She fiddled with her bracelets, looking very nervous.

"Ms. Johannes," Curtis greeted her uncertainly.  McCoy looked from one to the other, reflecting that the last time they were in each other's presence they were probably a hell of a lot less formal than this, as well as heavily intoxicated.  You couldn't tell from looking at them - they looked as proper as young parents at a Sunday school play.

"It's OK?  Can I talk to him now?" she asked McCoy.  He glanced at Curtis, who was visibly uncomfortable.  Curtis shrugged, acquiescing.

"Your testimony's done.  There's no legal reason you can't," McCoy said.  He raised his eyebrows at Curtis, seeing if Curtis wanted him to stay.  Curtis nodded.

"Mr. Curtis, I'm real sorry about what I said."

"That's OK.  You just told the truth," he said quietly.

"I woulda said you left later, but my roomie, she got home right after you left.  She woulda said I was lying."

"That's OK, I couldn't ask you to perjure yourself."

"And I didn't know you was a cop neither when I gave you the weed.  I asked and you said you wasn't," she reminded him.

"Did I?"

"You don't remember that night real good, yeah?"

"No.  I'm sorry, I don't." he said apologetically.

"That's OK.  Your mom died, I guess you woulda forgot anything else," she said kindly.

"Yeah."

"Plus you was pretty wasted."

"I remember that part," he said ruefully.  "And it helps, you saying that in court.  Helps to show I wasn't in any shape to commit a crime that night."

"Yeah, no way you coulda done anything that night after you left," she laughed.  She sobered and regarded him seriously.  "You was real sweet though.  Real gentleman, not like some assholes I take home.  They just wanna get off, they don't care nothin' about the girl, you know?"

"Uh..." Curtis was fiddling with his wedding band, clearly uncomfortable with this turn in the conversation and probably wishing he'd asked McCoy to leave.  She noticed and smiled at him gently.

"Anyway.  I just wanted to say sorry too, for telling that cop about the bar thing.  He scared me."

"Yeah.  That's OK.  He's a scary guy," he smiled at her reassuringly.

"He wanted me to say you asked and you paid me, like I was some whore.  But I didn't."

"Thanks."

"I ain't a whore."

"No."  There was an awkward pause.

"They didn't charge me," she said suddenly.  "For goin' down on you at the bar, I mean."

"That's good."

"How come they charge you and not me?  I told them it was my idea."

"Just to try to make me look bad during the trial.  Don't worry about it."

"I'm real sorry.  I didn't mean to make trouble for you."

Curtis shrugged.  "I could've said no.  It's not your fault."

"I'm real sorry, Mr. Curtis.  Hey, that your wife?"  Curtis looked behind him and saw Briscoe pushing Deborah's wheelchair out of the courtroom.  He nodded.  "OK, I better go.  You're a real nice guy, Mr. Curtis.  She's a lucky lady."  She tossed her hair back, then walked off with a final smile at him.  Curtis watched her leave, chewing his lip pensively, then turned without a word and went to join his wife.

===

_Saturday, December 13_

_9:15am_

Briscoe knocked on Curtis' door.  Normally there was a hubbub of activity in the morning, but today the apartment seemed quiet.  Briscoe suppressed a grimace of irritation - damn, he'd been working last night and he'd forgotten this was Saturday and normal people often slept in.  Then again, now that Tania was back it didn't seem likely that Curtis would be allowed to sleep in, since the little girl was erratic in her sleeping patterns and needed supervision from the moment she woke up until she fell asleep again.  The door opened.

"Isabel?  Where's your Daddy?"

"I dunno.  I just woke up and he ain't here."

Briscoe felt his heart sink.  Curtis had been doing well despite the trial, and as far as Briscoe knew, he hadn't gone out or done anything else untoward in weeks.  And as far as Briscoe knew, he was still trying to convince Deborah to leave the nursing home and rejoin the family.  Could he be reacting that badly to the trial?  Could he have gone out last night?  Could he have left the girls all alone?

"Is your aunt staying here?"

"No."

"Any grownup with you girls?"

"Yeah, Mommy came to visit last night and she said she was gonna stay till after breakfast today.  But I dunno where Daddy is, he wasn't on the couch."

Briscoe nodded, relieved.  "He probably went out for milk or something," he followed Isabel into the silent apartment.

"Maybe Mommy knows," Isabel went to the back of the apartment and opened the door to her mother's room.  She stopped short.

"Oh.  He's in here."

Briscoe's eyebrows went up and he looked into the bedroom.  Curtis and his wife were deeply asleep, he on his back and she on her side.  Her head rested on his shoulder and her right arm was draped across his bare chest, his own right arm holding her close.  Briscoe felt his mouth drop open.  At that moment the other bedroom door opened and Serena came out.  "Isabel?  Somebody at the door?" She rubbed her eyes blurrily.  Isabel pointed to Briscoe.

"Hi Uncle Lennie," Serena said, in the closest approach to a civil tone that Briscoe had heard from her yet.  Maybe she needed to be fully awake for her caustic nature to emerge.  Olivia appeared behind her, yawning and pulling a robe on over her nightgown.  She stepped past Serena, glanced at the other open bedroom door and went to pull it closed, turning to say hello to Briscoe.  Then she did a double take and looked into the bedroom.

"Daddy's sleeping in Mommy's bed," Isabel informed Serena.  Serena frowned at her and looked into the bedroom, then traded a startled glance with Olivia.  Curtis, unaware of the stir he was causing, sighed deeply in his sleep, turned towards Deborah and caressed her shoulder with his free hand.  She murmured and snuggled closer to him so that they were embraced tightly, heads close together.  Briscoe was struck by how peaceful and childlike they both looked in sleep, faces content and free of the strain and weariness both so often wore during the day.  It also occurred to him that they were all intruding on a very private scene.  Tania suddenly wailed in the other bedroom.

"Shit.  Go get her.  Keep her quiet," Serena hissed at Olivia as she closed the bedroom door quietly.  Olivia quickly entered the girls' bedroom and picked up Tania, whispering soothingly to her.  From Deborah's bedroom, they heard Curtis' sleepy voice saying something to Deborah, and the sound of him sitting up in bed.

Serena called out quickly, "It's OK, Dad, we got her.  Go back to sleep."

"Serena?"

"Esta bien, Papa.  Estamos todas despiertas, no se preocupe por Tania.  Duermase."

"Gracias," Curtis' voice came back after a brief hesitation.  They heard the sound of the bed creaking as he lay back down, and Deborah's voice asking him something.  He answered and there was a pause, then a low laugh from Deborah answered by another from Curtis.

As of one mind, everybody moved into the living room and away from the bedroom door.  Serena and Olivia looked at each other in amazement as Olivia cuddled the baby.

"Uh... does anybody want breakfast?" she asked.  "Uncle Lennie, how come you're here?"

"You know, it doesn't seem that important any more," he said.

"Yeah, no kidding," Olivia shook her head.  She smiled uncertainly and looked at Serena, who shook her head in wonder and started to get herself breakfast.

"I'll get going - you let your dad know I was here, OK?  Tell him to give me a call when he gets up.  We're supposed to meet with Jack today."

"Oh, you don't hafta leave, Uncle Lennie.  He never really goes back to sleep after he's awake, plus he got a ton of stuff to do today.  He'll probably be up in a half hour, tops."

The girls busied themselves getting dressed and getting breakfast and Olivia changed the baby.  Briscoe chatted with Olivia and Isabel, and nobody mentioned the fact that Curtis and Deborah had apparently spent the night together.

About twenty minutes later, Curtis came out of the bedroom, barefoot, in faded jeans, pulling on a shirt and yawning.  He stopped short at the sight of Briscoe in his living room.  "Lennie?" he rubbed his eyes and yawned again.  "What are you doing here?"

"I uh... I thought you'd be awake, sorry, I just wanted to talk to you about me testifying before we met up with Jack."

"Oh," Curtis went into the kitchen to make himself coffee.  His daughters' eyes followed him, Olivia and Serena glancing at each other surreptitiously but not saying anything.  Isabel, sensing something was going on, looked from her father to her sisters to Briscoe.

"How come you were sleeping in Mommy's bed?" she asked.  Serena swatted her on the shoulder quickly and Isabel gave her a puzzled scowl.  Curtis, a bit embarrassed, cleared his throat.

"It is my bed too, Isabel," he pointed out.

 "Yeah but you never sleep there when Mommy's home," Isabel said, innocently curious.

Olivia grabbed her arm.  "Here, play with Tania for a while.  I'm gonna go make breakfast for Mom and Dad."  She leaned closer to Isabel and whispered something.  Isabel gave her father a puzzled glance and moved to take Tania.

"Daddy, how come you wasn't - weren't on the couch?" she persisted, as he entered the living room again.

Serena made an impatient sound.  "He don't have to explain himself to you," she said rudely.  Curtis looked at her, one eyebrow raised.  She looked at him and said, "Sorry, but you don't."  Curtis traded a glance with Briscoe, amused at the sight of Serena coming to his defense.

"It's OK, Serena."  He turned back to Isabel.  "Believe it or not, married people do sometimes sleep in the same bed," he said to her gently and took a sip of his coffee.

"Then how come you never used to?  Not since I was really little, anyway."

"Because Mommy was sick and we thought it would be better for her to have a bed to herself.  We just decided it would be nice for me to sleep there too last night.  It's no big deal," he told the room at large, looking down into his coffee cup.

"Is Mom coming back to stay?"  Serena blurted.  Curtis shrugged.

"I hope so.  You'll have to ask her," he said.  He quickly corrected himself.  "Actually, don't.  Don't put pressure on her, OK?"

"But I thought..."

"I know.  I hope so, Serena, but one night doesn't erase years of problems.  It's not that simple.  You know your mom and I have a lot of things to work out.  Now, can we talk about something else please?" he asked her gently.  She frowned at him and he relented briefly.  "Serena, I'm sorry but some stuff is just between me and your mom.  I know you're curious and I know you want her back as much as I do.  I'd like to tell you everything is gonna be OK, but I don't wanna give you false hope.  I'm just trying to be up front with you."

"OK."  He looked at her, not wanting to shut her down, not knowing what to do to keep the fragile peace between them.

"Thanks for taking the baby so we could sleep in a bit this morning.  That really meant a lot to me."  She looked up and regarded him seriously.  He smiled at her tentatively.  "We OK?"  She nodded.

Deborah's voice called out from the bedroom and Curtis put his cup down and went to get her.  A few minutes later he wheeled her into the living room.

"Hi Lennie," she said sleepily.  Curtis had told Briscoe once that Deborah was one of those people who are never really conscious until they've had a strong coffee.

Curtis brought her a cup of coffee from the kitchen, and she smiled her thanks.  He started to move back to the kitchen.  She touched his hand, he looked back at her questioningly, and their eyes met.  They shared a hesitant smile and she tugged on his hand.  He stepped closer to her wheelchair and she tilted her head up, pulling him slightly until he drew closer, bent down to her level and rested his forehead against hers.  They looked down at their clasped hands and she gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek before releasing him.  He drew in his breath involuntarily and smiled shyly back at her, then squeezed her hand and straightened up, going back to the kitchen to get their breakfasts.  The whole thing had taken less than ten seconds, but the three older girls had stood stock-still and openmouthed.  Briscoe stifled a smile at their expressions.

After breakfast, Curtis gathered up his things.  "OK, Olivia, you're in charge of Tania, I'm gonna be out for about an hour with Jack and Lennie and then do my pickup and delivery at John Jay.  Deborah, should I call the home, have them send out the van for you?" he asked casually, not looking in her direction, putting his papers in his briefcase.

"Um, I was thinking of asking the social worker to bring my meds here, for the weekend... would that be OK?" she answered in the same casual tone.

"Yeah, that would be fine," Curtis replied, snapping his briefcase together.  Serena picked up a paper he'd missed and brought it to him.

"Way to go, Dad," she said, sotto voce.  Curtis looked up at her, a bit startled, and met her smile.  He flashed her a grin that lit up his dark features and reached out to chuck her under the chin.

"It's just for the weekend, Serena.  Don't pressure her," he reminded her in a low voice as he stood up.

"I won't, I won't," she smiled back.

===

"So... I take it there's a chance Deborah might move back in?" Briscoe probed gently once they were on their way to meet McCoy.  Curtis cleared his throat and glanced at him.

"Yeah, I think so.  I hope so."

"Things going well?"

"Uh... yeah," he said as a shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Briscoe couldn't resist.  "You're blushing."

"I am not," Curtis' smile widened despite himself.

"Then you got a pretty good sunburn going.  In December."

"Lennie, this is a little too sensitive for me, OK?  Back off," Curtis warned him, still grinning.

"OK, OK," Briscoe relented.  He smiled as he looked for a parking spot.  "I didn't mean to intrude this morning - I just thought you'd already be awake.  You usually are by that time."

Curtis shrugged good-naturedly and looked out the window.  "I know.  I don't mind.  I do wonder though, what it would be like to have a love life that _isn't_ on display for all my friends and family to talk about," he mused.

"I'm just happy for you, Rey.  Your girls are too."

"Yeah.  Me too," he nodded as he looked out the window.  He cleared his throat.  "I'm trying not to raise my hopes though."

"A little hope is not a bad thing."

"It can be," he said quietly.

===

"Want me to get you guys coffee and doughnuts while Jack fills you in?" Curtis asked.  The other two nodded and McCoy unobtrusively passed him a five to cover the expense.  He and Briscoe had become adept at not making a big deal out of the fact that whenever they ate out, they made sure Curtis didn't pick up the tab.

Curtis went to get their coffees and McCoy looked at Briscoe with amused curiosity.  "What's he looking so chipper about?"

"Oh, he had a date last night..." McCoy's eyebrows went down in disapproval, and Briscoe finished, chuckling, "... with his wife."  McCoy's eyebrows climbed back up.

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not.  I went to his place this morning and they were sleeping in the same room.  Shocked the hell out of his daughters."

"I bet.  No wonder he's in such a good mood.  But I thought his wife's MS-"

"Hey, I didn't get a play-by-play on what they did last night, and I don't wanna know," Briscoe cut McCoy off, holding up his hands.  "It's none of our business.  Poor guy has little enough privacy as it is."  McCoy nodded in agreement.

Curtis returned with their coffee and doughnuts, and passed McCoy's change back to him.  He sat down and bit into his doughnut hungrily, then looked from Briscoe to McCoy.  "Wha?" he mumbled suspiciously, mouth full.

"Nothing, nothing.  Lennie, here's my notes so far."

Curtis swallowed and turned to Briscoe.  "OK, has the gossip train made the morning run already?"  Briscoe smiled sheepishly.  "What are you, in junior high?"

"Sorry, Jack just wanted to know why you were in such a good mood."

"Is it that noticeable?" he asked McCoy, a little embarrassed.

"Yeah, it is," McCoy smiled back at him.

Curtis took a sip of his coffee and nodded.  "Fine, fine.  Now that everybody knows I spent the night with my wife, let's talk about Lennie's testimony."

They started to go over all the pros and cons of calling Briscoe in as a witness.  On the one hand, he might make a good character witness in many respects.  On the other hand, he had been there for many of Curtis' low points and if questioned, some of those low points could come out.  In addition, if he took the stand Briscoe's character could be called into question as well, and his own record was less than spotless.

As they talked, McCoy observed Curtis' manner as he had been doing since he'd taken on the case.  He realized that he now had no qualms about putting Curtis on the stand, any more than he had when they had worked together.  The only concern now was whether it would make sense for him to take the stand, considering the kind of cross-examination he would open himself up to.

Briscoe also observed Curtis, reflecting that he hadn't seen Curtis in this good a mood in a long time.  He looked years younger, at peace somehow, and every so often he would get a faraway look in his eyes and smile slightly for no particular reason.  Love's a funny thing, thought Briscoe.  When it's going badly it can rip you apart like nothing else; when it comes back, you can be in the middle of a murder trial and still look like a little kid at Christmastime. He just hoped that the trial went well, so that Curtis wouldn't have to reconcile with Deborah just in time to be taken away from her.

===

**Author's Notes:** Once again, while the Spanish in the story is grammatically correct, it's probably not the actual dialect that Rey and his family would use.  I'm Chilean, raised in Canada, and I believe the character of Rey Curtis is supposed to be half-Peruvian Quechua Indian and half-Caucasian, raised in the States, like the actor who plays him.  And Deborah's a Pequot.  So some of the vocabulary and syntax used in his family might be a little different.

For those obsessive enough to need to know (like Kalio:), here are the Spanish-English translations:

"Papa, Isabel tuvo una-"  
"Dad, Isabel had a-"

"Esta bien, Papa.  Estamos todas despiertas, no se preocupe por Tania.  Duermase."  
"It's OK, Dad.  We're all awake, don't worry about Tania.  Go to sleep."

"Gracias," Curtis' voice came back after a brief hesitation.  
"Thanks," just in case it wasn't blindingly obvious.


	7. Father Morelli

**Chapter 7: Father Morelli**

Disclaimer: Not mine, Dick Wolf's.  No permission, no profit, no money, yadda yadda.

Feedback gratefully appreciated at

ciroccoj2002yahoo.com

_Saturday, December 13, 2003  
11:30am_

McCoy and Curtis had decided not to call Briscoe to the stand.  It was just too risky.  Briscoe had gone home, and now they were talking about the rest of the case.

"They've subpoenaed Father Morelli as the final witness for the prosecution," McCoy informed him.

"What can he say, though?  He's my priest, everything is protected by privilege."

"Not everything.  They can ask him about your demeanor, your role at the Church, your mother, all of that.  Everything he's observed that isn't directly a product of confessions or counselling."  McCoy paused for a second, aware that this was probably going to be a little touchy.  "What would you think of waiving confessional privilege?"

"Letting you ask about what we've talked about?"

"Yes."

"Why would I want to?"

"Because I think he could be a good character witness for you.  I'd have to talk to him, see what he has to say, but I think it might work in our favour.  Unfortunately, it could backfire because the prosecution would be able to question him as well."

Curtis looked at him askance.  "He's my confessor, Jack.  Do you have any idea the things I've told him?"

"I go to confession too - once in a blue moon, but I do go.  I know how private it is.  But is there anything you've told him that hasn't already come up during this trial?"

Curtis thought for a moment.  "I guess not," he said, grimacing at how much of his private life had become public.

"Would you consider waiving privilege?  You don't have to waive all of it - for example, you can keep any marital counseling privileged - but you can waive confessional privilege."

Curtis thought for a moment, eyes focused inwards as he sipped his coffee.  "Yeah, I may as well."

===

_Tuesday, December 16  
10:02am_

The trial had not been easy on Curtis.  He had sat through witness after witness, all of whom had looked at him apologetically as they gave testimony that bolstered the prosecution.  Although all of the character witnesses were people who liked Curtis, from his coworkers and neighbours to his fellow parishioners, they had all been led to admit the same things: that at the time of his mother's death Rey Curtis had been incredibly overburdened, exhausted, irritable, and not himself, greatly changed from what he had been years ago.

On cross, none of them could say that he knew that his mother's will and insurance policy had been changed.  None of them could point to a single instance of him saying that he wished his mother was dead.  Many of them hadn't even known his mother was ill, because he didn't talk about his family.  But it was still difficult for him to sit through.

Now it was time for the final witness for the defense, Father Neil Morelli.  McCoy knew there wasn't much Morelli could say that would add to what the other witnesses had said, in terms of besmirching Curtis' character.  He wasn't sure why Silcox had called him to the stand, and that made him extremely uncomfortable.  So far Silcox's prosecution had been competent and thorough, but hardly brilliant, but McCoy knew he wouldn't feel better until Silcox had rested his case.

"Father Morelli, you were Estela Curtis' spiritual advisor, were you not?"

"Yes, I was."

"Now, one possible explanation for Estela Curtis' death is that she committed suicide.  Did she seem depressed to you?"

"No, she did not."

"Did she act like a person who was suicidal?"

"No, she did not."

"Did she tell you she was suicidal?"

"I was her confessor.  I cannot confirm or deny anything that may have come up during her confessions."

"But you can talk about conversations outside of confession or counseling, you can talk about what you observed. What did Mrs. Curtis think of suicide?"

"Suicide is a mortal sin.  Mrs. Curtis was a very devout woman, she followed the teachings of the Church to the letter."

"The Church has mostly relaxed its stance towards suicide, though, hasn't it?  I mean, many Catholics now believe that although suicide is wrong, God might forgive somebody who has taken their own life if their reasons were valid, isn't that right?"

"That's not the position we take in our parish.  And that's certainly not the position Mrs. Curtis took.  In our parish we teach the following:" Morelli looked into the distance, obviously reciting from memory "'Suicide contradicts the natural inclination of the human being to preserve and perpetuate his life.  It is gravely contrary to the just love of self.  Suicide is contrary to love for the living God.'"

Curtis looked down, swallowing hard.  Silcox nodded, satisfied.

"Very well.  So in your opinion, did Mrs. Estela Curtis commit suicide?"

"I don't know," Morelli answered after a brief hesitation.  Curtis narrowed his eyes at Morelli, looking a little puzzled.  Silcox also looked slightly nonplussed, but quickly recovered.

"In your opinion, is it likely that she could have?"

"In my opinion based on what I knew of her character and beliefs, it would have been unlikely."  Silcox looked a little disappointed with the luke warmth of that answer, and moved on.

"Father Morelli, how long have you known Rey Curtis and his family?"

"Fourteen years, ever since I first came to St. Ignacio's parish."

"You're the same age as Mr. Curtis, right?  Thirty-eight?"

"Yes."

"You met when you were a brand new priest, an assistant at your first parish, and he was newly married and just starting out in law enforcement, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And now you're the senior priest at your Church, and Mr. Curtis has four children and has been married about fourteen years, is that correct?"

"Yes," Morelli looked at little unsure about this line of questioning, and McCoy and Curtis glanced at each other, equally unsure.

"What was the Curtis family like when you first came to the parish?"

"They didn't have children yet.  I believe Mrs. Curtis first became pregnant a few months after I arrived at St. Ignacio's," Morelli smiled at Curtis, and looked back at Silcox.  "They were a wonderful couple, the kind of people that make a parish work.  They were very involved in the Church.  Their marriage was very strong.  They were invaluable to me as helpers in the Church community, and as examples of a good Christian couple, a good Christian family."

"What kinds of things did they do in the parish?"

"Mr. Curtis helped the elderly parishioners with their yard work, and Mrs. Curtis counseled parishioners experiencing difficulties.  They also volunteered at the soup kitchen and often taught at the Sunday school."

"Does sound like a wonderful couple to have as part of your Church."

"Yes, they were."

"Did they follow the teachings of your Church?"

"Yes, of course."

"Didn't sort of fudge on the more inconvenient parts?"

"No, not at all."

"Your Church makes a great deal of money from donations, right?  Tithing?"

"Yes."

"Did Mr. Curtis' family donate to the Church?"

"Of course, his family tithed generously."

"Generously?  On a cop's salary?"

"They also had other income at the time."

"From a casino owned by Mrs. Curtis' family, isn't that right?"

"Yes, Mrs. Curtis is a Pequot.  The casino was Pequot-run, by members of her family.  They were shareholders."

"About five years ago Mrs. Curtis' cousin, Bruce Lyons, embezzled from the casino, isn't that right?"

"Yes.  There was a federal investigation and a lawsuit."

"Had the Curtises been part of this embezzling scheme?"

"Oh no, no, not at all - but they were still liable, along with the other shareholders.  It was quite a financial setback for them."

"This happened shortly after Mrs. Curtis was first diagnosed with MS, didn't it?"

"Yes - maybe a year after, I'm not sure."

"So they now have no other source of income, other than Mr. Curtis' salary."

"No, they don't."

"Do they still donate to the Church?"

"No, not any more.  I knew of their financial difficulties and let them know they did not need to feel obligated to give."

"Very generous of you.  And do they still volunteer at the Church?"

"They don't have time any more."

"Their situation has changed, hasn't it?"

"Mr. Curtis and his family have been through a lot in the past few years.  Mrs. Curtis's illness has progressed much faster than they expected, and their youngest daughter is disabled."

"And brain damaged."

"Yes."

"What are we talking about, in Mrs. Curtis' case?  What do you know about her illness?"

"She's in a wheelchair.  She suffers from paralysis and spasms in her limbs, is mostly unable to walk.  She's very fatigued most of the time.  She also suffers from seizures sometimes, and her vision is occasionally affected to the point where she can't focus on letters.  She also experiences a great deal of pain."

"She's also... forgive the bluntness, but due to her illness she is unable to participate in a sexual marital relationship, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"What about the youngest daughter, Tania?"

"Tania has some developmental delays that make it difficult to take care of her.  She's almost three years old, but still needs a lot of the same care that a one-year old would need."

"How have the Curtises coped with these stresses?"

"Fairly well, considering the strain they're under.  It has been a difficult time, but Mr. Curtis remains a devoted husband and father.  He's the primary caregiver for all of his daughters and his wife."

"Do they have any other family to help them?"

"Mr. Curtis' mother was not well, his brother lives in Tucson and his sister lives in Albany.  She comes to town once a month to give him some time to himself.  Mrs. Curtis' family live in New Jersey."

"You've counseled Mr. Curtis and his wife before, isn't that correct?  You counseled them before she was diagnosed with MS."

"Yes."

"What was that about?"

"That counseling is protected by privilege."

"Didn't Mr. Curtis have an affair?  Didn't they split up for a few months over this?"

"I was their counselor.  I cannot confirm or deny anything that may have come up during their counseling."  McCoy cocked his head, suddenly regarding Morelli very closely.

"Well, we already heard from a witness last week who testified to the affair and their separation," Silcox smiled at Morelli, "so you're not exactly divulging state secrets here."  He paused.  "When Mrs. Curtis was diagnosed with MS, Mr. Curtis felt responsible, didn't he?  He felt that this was God's punishment for his indiscretion in 1996?"  Morelli looked confused, not sure whether or not he could answer that question.  "And you encouraged those feelings of guilt, didn't you?"

"Objection!  Your Honour, we've already established that anything resulting from counseling is privileged."

"Sustained, move along, Mr. Silcox."

"Father, when Mrs. Curtis became pregnant for the fourth time, she already had MS, didn't she?"

"Yes."

"And was this a planned pregnancy?"

"No."

"Were they using contraception?"

"Not artificial contraception.  The Church frowns on that.  They were using Natural Family Planning, which the Church allows."

"Otherwise known as the rhythm method, or Vatican Roulette, right?"

"No, it's not the rhythm method.  It's somewhat more complex than that.  It's also highly effective when done correctly - 98% effective, as a matter of fact."

"Not effective enough, obviously.  When Mrs. Curtis became pregnant, what did you tell them to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"She had MS and three children already, and she was on medication that was known to cause birth defects.  Hardly the best time to have a child.  Didn't their doctor tell them it wasn't a good idea to continue the pregnancy?  Didn't she suggest an abortion?"

"That was hardly a suggestion they were going to follow.  They are devout Catholics."

"So they had the child despite medical warnings."

"Yes."

"And their child, Tania, is brain damaged and disabled."

"Yes."

"Do you still feel you did the right thing in telling them to have this child?"

"Objection, Your Honour, this trial is not about the Catholic Church's teachings on abortion.  How is this relevant?"

"Sustained.  Mr. Silcox, tread carefully on matters of religion in my courtroom, please," the judge admonished him.

"I didn't have to tell them anything," Morelli added.  "They could no more have committed abortion than they could commit murder.  In our eyes it's the same thing."  Silcox looked at Curtis speculatively, then shrugged.

"Now, when Tania was born, the Curtises were taxed to their limit providing care for her.  What would have happened if they had had another child?"

"I don't know.  They would have had some difficulties, I suppose."

"So, did you recommend contraception to prevent further children?"

"Of course not, as I indicated, the Church frowns on artificial contraception."

"What did you suggest they do?"

"I suggested Natural Family Planning again, or abstinence."

"Abstinence.  And this was before Mrs. Curtis' health made sex impossible for them.  They were supposed to live together but not sleep together, is that right?  How did Mr. Curtis feel about that?"

"He wasn't happy, but he understands the Church's position on artificial contraception."

"Oh he does.  Does he understand the Church's position on vasectomies?"

"Objection.  Your Honour, may I ask where Mr. Silcox is going with any of this?"

"Goes to character, Your Honour.  This character witness is stating that the defendant follows the teachings of his Church.  He pointed out that Mr. Curtis 'could no more have committed abortion than he could have committed murder,' presumably because abortion is such a big no-no.  I'm pointing out that Mr. Curtis's adherence to Catholic law is somewhat more flexible than Father Morelli would like us to believe."

"I'll allow it."

"Did Mr. Curtis understand the Church's position on vasectomies?"

"Yes."

"And that is..."

"The Church opposes them."

"It goes a little further, doesn't it?  In fact," Silcox's second chair handed him a piece of paper, "to quote Bishop Thomas Wenski, 'Sterilization is evil. It is a mutilation that frustrates the purpose of the marriage act.'" Silcox put down his paper.  "Did Mr. Curtis have a vasectomy?"

Morelli looked at Curtis.  Curtis looked back at him steadily.  "Yes, he did," he confirmed.

"He confessed this to you?"

"Yes."

"And Mr. Curtis has waived the confidentiality of confession, so you can answer freely.  Did you absolve him?  Make him say ten Hail Mary's and go on his way?"

"No.  I didn't absolve him until I felt sure he knew what he had done was wrong, and that he truly repented."

"I see.  Have you given him absolution for the murder of his mother yet, or are you waiting for him to realize that was wrong too?"

"Objection!"

"Withdrawn," Silcox leaned against his table for a moment, then began again.  "Father, you are aware that Mr. Curtis has been unfaithful to his wife since she has been diagnosed with MS."

"Yes, I am."

"How do you know this?"

"He has confessed to me."

"How does Mr. Curtis feel about his infidelity?"

"He feels very guilty.  He feels that he is failing his wife and family.  He's a very moral person, he has deep religious convictions.  He's not a person who forgives himself easily when he doesn't live up to the teachings and expectations of the Church or of his conscience."

"But, come on, I mean, if his wife can't, what's a guy to do?"

"The Church does not wink at infidelity just because there is no sexual relationship between the spouses," Morelli said primly.

"When he tells you of these infidelities, what do you do?"

"I counsel him.  He promises to try harder to be faithful to his wife.  I help him to come to terms with his failings, and try to help him make sure it doesn't happen again."

"How do you do that?"

"I point out the ways in which he has sinned in the eyes of God and man, that he has failed in his duties as a husband and father, that he is breaking his vows," he looked at Curtis, who looked down at the table, twisting his wedding band.

"Do you absolve him?"

"When I feel that he has repented, yes, I absolve him."

"Mhm.  Repentance includes the sincere desire to not sin again, isn't that correct?"

"Yes."

"But how long has this been going on?  How many times has Rey Curtis admitted infidelity to you?"

"A little over a year, I think.  He gets one night a month to be away from his wife and family, and he... he usually goes to a bar and, uh... meets a young lady there."

"Yes, we heard from one of those young ladies last week.  How many times in the last year has Mr. Curtis gone out and _not_ picked up a perfect stranger for casual sex?"

Morelli glanced apologetically at Curtis, who looked down again.  "Twice."

"Oh.  I see.  He's very sincere in his desire to not sin again.  Your counseling to help make sure it doesn't happen again is doing wonders."

"You have to understand, Mr. Curtis is in a difficult position, he's under a great deal of stress.  I take that into account when I absolve him."

"How do you feel about Mr. Curtis?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What do you think of him?"  Morelli opened his mouth to answer, but Silcox continued, "How did you feel about Mr. Curtis after he confessed to having an affair in 1996, after he confessed to having a vasectomy, after he confessed to all of those indiscretions as his wife's illness progressed?"

McCoy narrowed his eyes at Silcox.

"I..."

"How did you feel about him?  This is a man who used to be a pillar of your community.  And that's a pretty far fall, breaking some pretty important rules.  How did you feel about him?"

"I understand that people make mistakes.  We are all sinners.  Priests understand that."

"Mhhm.  Father, when Estela Curtis was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, how did Mr. Curtis and his family react?"

"They were understandably upset."

"Who was going to be taking care of Estela Curtis as she became sicker?"

"Mr. Curtis would."

"I see.  He was working full-time, taking care of four children including one who is retarded, a crippled wife, and now he was going to take care of a demented mother as well?  Seems like a lot, don't you think?"

"I believe Mr. Curtis would have been able to do it.  His faith gives him strength."

"I see.  Superhuman strength, I guess.  Same kind of strength he displays when he goes to bars and picks up strangers."

"Objection!"

"Sustained."

"Now, your Church offers respite care for people who need it, doesn't it?  For example, you send volunteers from your Church to help take care of elderly parishioners so their children can get a break sometimes, right?"

"Yes."

"Did you get any respite care for Mr. Curtis as his wife's illness progressed, after his daughter showed signs of being disabled?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I... I didn't think it was necessary."

"Were you aware that Mr. Curtis was clinically depressed?"

"I knew he wasn't feeling himself."

"Were you aware that he'd lost a great deal of weight, had trouble sleeping, was irritable, was on performance probation at work?"

"I knew he wasn't feeling well."

"Not feeling well.  We heard from quite a few witnesses last week who all noticed a lot more than 'not feeling well.'"

"The witness has answered Mr. Silcox," McCoy pointed out.  Silcox glanced back at him and moved on.

"What did you do for him?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you direct him to a psychiatrist?"

"Mr. Curtis couldn't afford a psychiatrist.  Besides, I didn't think it was necessary."

"Did you counsel him?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Morelli looked a little confused.  "What do you mean?"

"Never mind, let's move on.  You said that the Curtises tithed generously when they were able to.  Now, your Church spends some of its donations on food and clothing for poor parishioners, don't you?  Usually single mothers or elderly persons?"

"Yes."

"Did Mr. Curtis' family receive any of that as their financial situation deteriorated?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I... I didn't think-"

"Didn't think it was necessary?"

"No."

"Are you aware that his family has applied for every kind of government assistance there is, but that for various bureaucratic reasons, they don't qualify for most of it?"

"Yes."

"So they really had nowhere else to go, did they?"

"I suppose not."

"Why didn't you give them any of the Church's money?  Were they not needy enough?  Are you aware that almost fifty percent of Mr. Curtis's income goes to medication and nursing care for his wife and youngest daughter?  Are you aware that Mr. Curtis' children wear secondhand clothing, that they have no new toys or books, that his family of six lives in a small two-bedroom apartment, that he took on an extra job marking papers for a local college to make ends meet?  Do you still think they aren't needy enough?"

Morelli was silent.

"Why didn't you see the signs that Mr. Curtis was severely depressed?  Why didn't you help him?  Everybody else who knew him could see the changes in him.  You were his priest - why didn't you?"

Morelli looked at Curtis, whose gaze was fixed on Silcox.

"Was it because he reminded you of yourself, the life you would have had if you had followed a different path?  Was it because he disappointed you with his infidelities, with his failures?  Because if he could fail, maybe you could too?"

"I... I don't know..."

"The truth is, you did fail, didn't you. You failed him.  You failed Rey Curtis and his whole family.  You decided your only responsibility was for their souls, and their bodies could go to hell.  You told him everything he couldn't do - including making love to his own wife when they couldn't have any more children - but didn't help him after you gave him the Thou Shalt Nots."  Silcox paced for a moment.

"You were angry with him because he broke your rules.  You were angry with him because he didn't live up to what you thought he should be.  So you punished him.  You absolved him, but you refused to help him, and you set him up to fail again."  He faced Morelli directly.

"He needed support.  You gave him guilt and condemnation.  You drove him deeper into depression and despair.  He had no way out.  He had nowhere else to go.  No wonder he didn't feel he had any other choice when his mother got sick too.  You drove him to kill his mother, didn't you?"

Father Morelli stared at Curtis, stricken.

===

_Tuesday, December 16  
9:01pm_

"Rey, the DA is offering a deal," McCoy began.  "Man One, six to ten, and you'd have to allocute."

Curtis rubbed his forehead.  He looked up at McCoy.

"What do you think?"

"I think Father Morelli's testimony may have hurt us a lot.  He looked guilty, and he made you look guilty.  I reserved the right to recall him for our case, but..."

"Yeah." Curtis leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.

"I think it's time to look at a plea.  It's a generous offer.  Partly that's because they don't think they can pull off Murder Two, but... it's still generous."

"I didn't do it," Curtis said dully.

"Rey.  I can't be sure of proving that.  You had motive, you had means, and you lied to the police about your whereabouts, being a police officer yourself.  Your family's been in trouble for a long time, you've been in trouble... it's not a far leap for the jury to take, to believe that you did this.  Out of desperation, or need for money, or whatever, it doesn't matter.  It may be a circumstantial case, but I know if I were prosecuting I wouldn't have much doubt about winning it.  The alternative is Murder Two, and that's a much longer sentence.  If you plead now we can argue for leniency, and I think we have a pretty good case with this judge."

"I didn't do it.  I'd have to commit perjury and admit to something I didn't do."

"Rey."

"You think I should take the deal, don't you?"

"I don't know.  I think we can win.  But I'm gambling with your life here.  I'm not used to asking my client's opinion on how to proceed, and I'm not used to being responsible for my client's well-being if they do as I say and I lose their case.  I think you need to think about this seriously."

"Deborah?" Curtis turned to her.

Deborah shook her head, a sob escaping from her throat.  Curtis took her hands in his and his eyes filled with tears.

"Six years..." He slipped one hand up her arm and she leaned forward until her head lay on his shoulder.  She clutched at him, sobbing softly.  He gently rested his chin on top of her head and stared off into space, thinking.

"The alternative may be fifteen."

Curtis nodded, not trusting his voice.  He turned his face into Deborah's hair and took a few deep breaths.

"Deborah." He touched her face tenderly, tilting her face up to his.  "Please... help me.  I can't decide this without you."

Deborah swallowed, stifling her sobs.  "It... it's a sin.  Perjury.  God knows, I don't want you gone for fifteen years, the thought of that... I would rather die." She stopped for a second, then took his hand between hers.  "But... if the only way to avoid it is for you to lie, to say you killed her... it's your _soul_, Rey.  How can you - how can you turn your back on God?"

Curtis bent his head down, laying his cheek along hers and looking down at their clasped hands.  "You don't think I've done worse?" he said, his voice soft.  He looked up at her, eyes dark with tears, but holding hers steadily.  "All those times I cheated on you, broke my vows to you and God that I would be faithful, you don't think that's worse?  And you..." he stopped for a moment, hesitating, then shook his head and continued quietly, "you don't think God's already turned His back on me?"

Deborah stared at him.  "You can't mean that."

Curtis broke their gaze.  "You don't want me to take the deal."

"Not if you have to commit perjury."

"OK."  He turned to McCoy.  "No deal."

===

_Wednesday, December 17  
12:31pm_

Jamie Ross, who was coming off maternity leave, had insisted on taking McCoy, Curtis and his wife out for lunch on the first day of the defense's case.  So here they were, at a fairly nice restaurant.  Deborah looked somewhat ill-at-ease.

"OK, everybody, go to town, my treat," Ross said expansively.

Ross and McCoy made their choices and caught up on some mutual friends while Curtis quietly read the menu to Deborah, who was still having trouble with her eyes.  Once the food arrived, they all tucked in.

"I'd like to ask Father Morelli about your mother when we recall him," McCoy broached the subject.

"What about her?" Curtis asked him as he unobtrusively cut Deborah's food into small pieces.

"I got a feeling that he knew more than he was letting on, about her mental state."

"So?  Doesn't matter, he can't say anything if it's protected by privilege."

"No, but... if he has knowledge that could exonerate you..."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm saying I think your mother may have told him she was thinking of committing suicide."

"What makes you say that?"

"I just got a feeling, when he was on the stand."

"A feeling?  That's all you've got?"

"A very strong feeling."

Deborah suddenly swore as she knocked over her glass.  Curtis reached out and rescued the glass, putting his hand on Deborah's shoulder soothingly.  Deborah bit her lip and looked down.

"Shh, shh, it's OK," he murmured to her as he mopped the water, then took an empty plastic bottle with a spout out of Deborah's purse.

"You'd have to do a lot better than 'a very strong feeling' to break the seal of confession," he said as he filled the bottle with water and passed it to Deborah.

"Do you want me to try?"

"No," he glanced surreptitiously at Deborah, who seemed to be having trouble with her fork.

"It could exonerate you.  Don't you want that?"

"Yes, but... not at that price."  Deborah put her fork down, hand shaking, and blew out her breath in frustration.

"Shakes?" Curtis asked in an undertone.  She nodded, and he touched her hand softly.  He took her fork and speared a piece of fish from her plate.  She looked down.  "It's OK," he reassured her, smiling at her gently.  She sighed and nodded, opening her mouth so that he could feed her.  McCoy waited for a second, then asked,

"You would rather go to prison than use a confession?"

"We've been down this road before.  Some lines you just can't cross."

"I've crossed it before."

"I know, and I didn't agree with you then either.  Confession is confession.  It's sacred.  You can't break that, not without the permission of the person who made the confession."

"You would go to prison to protect the sanctity of confession?" Ross asked skeptically.  Curtis shrugged.

"What if I find out she confessed to thinking of suicide?" McCoy asked.

"I don't want you to look into it."

"You're tying my hands," McCoy protested.

"It's not my law, it's God's."

"You've broken other rules that are just as important."

Curtis blew out his breath.  "Doesn't mean I've let go of my morals, just because I can't live up to them.  You know how I feel about this, Jack.  We've had this talk before."

"The last time we had it, we were talking about somebody else's trial.  Not yours.  You weren't facing jail time."

"And you told me that you were Catholic, but not at work.  It's different for me.  I'm Catholic whether I'm a cop or a defendant.  And a Catholic is not gonna ask a priest to break the seal of confession.  At least, this Catholic won't."

"Rey-" Ross began.

"I'm not gonna change my mind.  Move on."  Curtis took a bite of his pasta in between feeding Deborah.

"OK.  I'll still talk to him about other testimony he could give that doesn't involve confession."  McCoy ate in silence for a few minutes, then broached another subject.  "What do you think about Deborah taking the stand?"

Curtis looked at Deborah.

"What could I add?"

"Character witness?"

"Not a good idea," said Curtis grimly.  "If she takes the stand, she'll have to testify that she didn't think I was capable of taking care of her and the girls.  That she left me because of that.  That won't paint a pretty picture in the jury's mind."

"What about now?  Have you changed your mind?" Ross asked Deborah.  Deborah smiled at Curtis.

"Yeah, I guess so."  He smiled back at her.

"Could you use that?" Ross asked McCoy.

"The point isn't what things are like now, it's how they were when my mother died," Curtis pointed out.  They continued to eat in silence for a few minutes, Deborah indicating that Curtis should have some of his food too before it got cold.

All of a sudden there was a crash.  The waiter had left an earthenware plate with bruschetta next to Deborah's chair, and she had inadvertently bumped up against it.  The bruschetta had spilled onto her dress before the plate fell to the floor and shattered.  Curtis quickly got up and made sure none of the shards had fallen on Deborah, then knelt down next to her chair and held her arm reassuringly as the patrons at the nearest tables glanced over at them.  The waiter showed up next to them, asking what had happened.

"Can you not put anything next to my wife, please?  She has muscle spasms," Curtis said in a low, matter-of-fact voice.

"Of course, sir.  I'm very sorry, ma'am," the waiter apologized profusely and signaled to a busboy to bring a mop.  Deborah picked at her stained dress, angry and embarrassed.  Curtis helped her to pick some of bruschetta off, murmuring softly to her.

"Here, let me take you to the ladies' room," Ross suggested.  Deborah nodded and they left, Ross pushing her chair.

"So... it looks like things are going well between you two..." McCoy commented.

"No, not you too."

"What?"

"Lennie's already making me feel like I'm in high school again.  Can't anything in my life be private?"

"I'm not trying to invade your privacy.  I'm just observing that things seem to be going well.  I'm assuming she's not staying at the nursing home?"

"No."

"Good."

"Yeah."

"Things going well?"

Curtis looked at his plate for a moment, smiling slightly.  "Yeah.  Really well.  We're taking it one step at a time, but... I think she'll decide to stay with us."

"That's great."

"The girls are pretty happy," he said, striving for a nonchalant tone.

"Sounds like you're pretty happy about it too."  Curtis looked down, concentrating on his meal.  "You're allowed to be happy about this, you know."

"I... I guess so.  I just... I guess part of me thinks I don't deserve to be, I dunno," he shook his head, dismissing the subject.  "I don't think she should testify, though."

"OK.  I didn't think so, I just thought I'd bring it up."

McCoy dug into his salad, thinking.  He'd gone over the transcript of yesterday's session, trying to see how badly their case had been hurt by Curtis waiving confessional privilege, but quickly concluded that Silcox would have made his case without the waiver.  And Father Morelli had been able to freely testify on cross in ways that McCoy felt could help their case.

Still, Silcox's strategy had been good.  The jurors would probably be feeling compassionate towards Curtis, but Silcox had known that would happen anyway.  The point was not to convince them that Curtis was a bad person; the point was to convince them that he had committed a murder.  And yesterday morning, they'd looked like they believed it.

McCoy hoped he could do something to salvage the situation that evening, when he spoke to Morelli again.

===

_Wednesday, December 17  
5:31pm_

"Your testimony didn't go well, not for us, anyway," McCoy began, sitting down in Father Morelli's office.

"I guess not.  I'm very sorry.  The prosecutor took me by surprise."

"Me too.  But he definitely scored points with the jury.  Your testimony may be what determines whether Rey goes to jail or not."  Father Morelli looked miserable.

"Do you want to help us?"

"Yes, of course."

"Father, you were Estela's confessor..." Morelli looked at him suspiciously.

"Yes..."

"Why didn't you say that Estela didn't commit suicide?"

"I-"

McCoy's eyes narrowed.  Quickly dismissing everything Curtis had said that afternoon, he plunged ahead, following his hunch.  "Why didn't you say it?  Silcox led you straight towards a very solid declaration that Estela Curtis did not and could not have committed suicide, but you shied away at the very last moment."  Morelli looked at him, hesitating.  "You know something, don't you?"  Morelli flushed and looked away from him.

"She told you she was thinking of committing suicide, didn't she?"

"I cannot confirm or-"

"-deny what is told in confession, yes, I heard that.  I also heard you say the exact same thing and look the exact same way when Silcox asked you about Rey and Deborah's separation in 1996."

Morelli looked at him, a deer-in-the-headlights kind of stare.  "These people told you everything, every detail about their lives.  They trusted you.  You knew, didn't you?  Estela Curtis told you she was thinking of committing suicide."  Morelli bowed his head.

"You have to come forward."

"Whatever she said or didn't say, it was in confidence.  I can't betray that."

"It's pretty well established that you've betrayed the Curtis family a fair bit already.  You left them high and dry when they needed you.  Are you really going to do it again?  Rey Curtis may very well go to prison for something he didn't do.  His wife will be in a nursing home, his children in foster care.  Do you think they will ever recover from that?  Do you think his mother would want that for her son?"

"I can't say that she admitted she was going to commit suicide!  That - that would mean, if she did it, that her soul is in Hell, suffering - do you think Rey wants to know that?  That his mother killed herself because of him?  Because she saw that he was weak?"

"You think he'd rather go to prison?  Is that why you won't come forward?" McCoy was incredulous.  "That's insane!  If that's why you're keeping quiet, you have to come forward!"

"I cannot confirm or deny-"

"Spare me!" McCoy got up and leaned over him.  "Father, did Estela tell you she was thinking of suicide?"

"I... I cannot-"

"I'm going to take that as a yes," snapped McCoy.  He glared at Morelli for a moment, frustrated with his inability to get through to him.  "Fine.  Let's talk about what else you can add to the trial if I recall you."

As they spoke, McCoy's mind raced.  Father Morelli's testimony was pretty much done.  As they explored other possible reasons to recall him, McCoy realized that there was really nothing else that he could add.  The only option he had was to try to convince him, somehow, to break the seal of confession.  The very thing that Curtis did not want him to do.


	8. Serena

**Chapter 8: Serena**

Disclaimer: Not mine, Dick Wolf's.  No permission, no profit, no money, yadda yadda.

Feedback gratefully appreciated at

ciroccoj2002yahoo.com

Friday, December 19, 2003  
5:45pm

The trial had been going well for the last few days.  Skoda had taken the stand and shot down the prosecution psychiatrist's testimony - and their psychiatrist - rather conclusively.  Other forensic witnesses had pointed out how highly unlikely it would have been that Curtis, a former homicide detective, could have done such a poor job of killing Estela Curtis without raising suspicions, no matter what his mental state.  Lisa had testified briefly about her brother's relationship with their mother.  Now the week was over, and Briscoe had been invited for a sort of impromptu holiday meal at Curtis' house.

Briscoe arrived to find dinner preparation going full steam ahead.  "OK, if you're gonna help me make dinner, then let's get down to business," Curtis clapped his hands together to organize the girls, then winked at Isabel and sang, "'Let's get down to business to defeat the Huns...'"

"Huah!" yelled the three older girls at once.  The family shared a laugh.  Briscoe looked at Curtis, puzzled.

"What was that?"

"It's from Mulan.  They used to watch that movie all the time.  It's pretty good, actually," he gave Olivia some potatoes to peel.

"Sing the whole song, Daddy!" Isabel begged.

"Sweetheart, it's been years, I don't remember the words.  Besides, I can't carry a tune to save my life.  Here, you wash the celery."

"'Let's get down to business, to defeat the Huns!  Did they send me daughters, when I asked for sons?'" sang Olivia, peeling away.

"That doesn't sound like great lyrics for this family," commented Briscoe, smiling at the girls.

"It's actually got a really positive role model for young girls," said Deborah, stacking blocks on the floor with Tania.

Olivia continued, "'You're the saddest bunch I've ever met, But you can bet before we're through-'"

"'Mister, I'll make a man out of you!'" the whole family joined in, laughing.

"Hey, can we watch it?  Pleease?" Isabel asked.  "'Member Olivia's friend Stephanie fixed the VCR?  We haven't rented a movie in soo long!" Curtis and Deborah looked at each other, then both nodded.  Isabel squealed in delight.

"That's a baby movie!  I don't wanna watch a baby movie!" Serena protested.

"It is not a baby movie!"

"Well I'm too old for it!"

"Hey, I'm thirty-eight and I kinda like it, so what's that tell you?" Curtis took some carrots out of the fridge.

"Girls mature faster than boys?" Curtis laughed and gave Serena the carrots to chop.

"Ouch!  Good one.  Isabel called it, so she picks it.  You can pick next time.  Olivia, you wanna go pick it up?"

"Sure, Daddy," Olivia abandoned the potatoes and quickly got on her jacket and boots.

===

Dinner went relatively well, although along with the holiday cheer was a feeling of tension.  Everybody knew that the trial was going well, but that it was almost at an end.  It was likely that all witnesses would be done by the 22nd, and closing statements would be made the 23rd.  Which meant one of three possibilities.  The family could have a wonderful Christmas, with the trial finally behind them.  Or the jury would take so long that they'd have to recess over the holidays and they'd spend Christmas in limbo.  Or it would be the first Christmas of many that Curtis would spend in prison.

McCoy had promised that if Curtis was convicted he would handle the appeal, and he was optimistic about it since the judge had already made quite a few questionable calls with regards to the admissibility of evidence brought to the trial.  However, the looming end of the trial still put a bit of a damper on the holiday spirits.

After dinner, Curtis and Lisa started to clear the table while Olivia set up the VCR and Serena helped Deborah clean the baby and her high chair.  Amid the busy swirl of conversation and activity, Serena started to tease Olivia about a boy at school, not terribly kindly.

"You like him.  You like Danny."

"I don't _like_ him, like him.  Not like that," Olivia reassured her mother, who smiled at her indulgently.

"Yeah, well, do you  _like_ like that other guy, Jerry?"

"No!"

"I seen you flirting with him.  Better watch out, you're gonna get a rep as a slut," Serena said snidely.

"Hey hey! Watch your language!" Curtis said warningly, picking up a dinner plate and tapping the back of her chair warningly.

"What, you the only one that can be a slut around here?"

Tense silence fell over the family as Curtis' head whipped up and he glared at Serena, thumping the dishes back down onto the table.  He opened his mouth angrily, then snapped it shut and stepped back, pressing his lips together.  He bowed his head and cleared his throat, then picked up the dishes again and continued to clear the table, blushing darkly and not meeting anybody's eyes.  Glancing at each other, the rest of the family slowly started to move again, picking up their conversations in subdued voices.

Serena, not quite believing Curtis hadn't slapped her for what she had just said, picked up her plate and slowly brought it to the kitchen, looking at him nervously.  He took her plate without a word and started to wash the dishes, motioning to her to go back to the table.  After he had regained his composure, he came up behind Serena and put his hand on her shoulder, leaning down and speaking into her ear.

"You and me are gonna take a little walk."

"I don't want to."

"Father-daughter bonding.  Right now.  No, you don't get a choice," he spoke over his daughter's objection.  He propelled her to the door and they put on their jackets and left.  Deborah and Lisa looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

A little while later, Curtis and Serena came back into the apartment.  Serena went to Deborah's chair and gave her a hug, then quietly sat down to watch the movie with her sisters.  Curtis took off his jacket, shaking the snow off his hair, and came into the kitchen where the other adults had gathered.

"What was that all about?" Deborah asked.

"Told her I wanted her to stop making her little comments.  I may deserve them, but the rest of the family doesn't.  She upsets everybody when she does it.  Anybody want coffee?"  A trio of yeses came back to him.

"And she was OK with that?" Lisa asked skeptically.

"Not right away.  She said if I deserved it, I shouldn't get mad at her if she says stuff like that when it's just the two of us.  I agreed, so she called me every name she could think of," Lisa started to chuckle.  "I took it, added some more names she hadn't thought of plus Spanish translations, got her laughing, then we came home."  Lisa, Deborah and Briscoe laughed.

"Good for you," Briscoe said, reflecting that not too long ago Serena's remark would have sparked a major incident.

"Man, can you imagine one of us saying something like that to our dad?" Lisa shook her head at Curtis.

"Calling him a slut?  He deserved it too," pointed out Curtis, starting up the coffee maker.

"Yeah, but he'd a smacked us so hard..."

"What did your mom think about it?" Briscoe asked, curious.

"She wasn't happy with it," Lisa answered, "but the double standard is alive and well in a lot of Hispanic households, even today.  Lotsa wives, they think that's just what husbands do, like a law of nature or something.  And they're just supposed to put up and shut up."  Lisa looked at Deborah affectionately and said, "I was so proud of you when you tossed Rey's ass the first time he messed up."

"Oh, thank you very much," Curtis interjected, taking out coffee cups.

"I mean, I was happy you guys got back together eventually, but still.  I was glad you didn't marry some doormat."

"No, I didn't," Curtis agreed, smiling at Deborah ruefully.  She smiled back and took his hand in hers.

"Ever wish you had?" she asked.

"Nope," he kissed her hand lightly, eyes twinkling at her.

"That's why I was so pissed when you said it was OK after you got sick," Lisa went on.

"The situation's a little different, Lisa," Deborah said quietly.  Curtis sighed, shaking his head slightly.

"No it's not.  If it's wrong, it's wrong.  Period."

"Sound familiar?" Curtis asked Briscoe sardonically.  Briscoe chuckled.  Apparently a rigid moral code ran in the Curtis family.

"It always drove me crazy when our dad would go tomcatting and our mom would just sigh and say Oh well," Lisa said.

"Yeah, me too," Curtis agreed quietly.

"Maybe that's how your dad was raised," Briscoe suggested.  "If it's a cultural thing..."

"No, our dad was white," Curtis informed him.

"Yeah?  I didn't know that."

"Curtis?  That sound like a Spanish name to you?"

"About as Spanish as Johannes," Lisa remarked.  "Was she mixed too?"

Curtis glanced at his sister, a pained expression on his face.  "I didn't ask for her biography and resume, Lisa," he muttered, looking away from her.  Deborah cleared her throat.

"I see where Serena gets this from.  Lisa, do you mind very much?  Rey and I are trying to move on."

Lisa put up her hands apologetically.  "You're right, you're right.  I'm sorry," she said sincerely. She looked out into the living room, where the girls were watching their movie.  "Speaking of Serena... wow, she's doing a lot better," Lisa observed.  Curtis smiled.

"Yeah, she's mellowed a bit lately."

"Nalo, I'm so proud of you.  I didn't think anybody could get through to that kid."  She paused.  "I sure as hell couldn't.  When I was staying here, I wanted to strangle her about twice a day, and I'm not even her target most of the time."

Deborah smiled ruefully. "She's a challenge."

"I remember the night Mama died, she was such a handful, remember Deborah?  She was picking on the other girls all night, even before Rey left, and finally I couldn't take it any more.  We had this big fight and she stormed out.  I didn't even want her back," she shook her head, remembering.  "When I thought about coming here and taking them while you were at Lennie's place, I kept thinking about that night and I seriously wanted to take Tania and have Serena stay in foster care.  Of course, I knew Serena's foster family would probably kill her.  Man, what a kid.  You were a bit like that too, though, when you were little."

"I wasn't that bad," Curtis said automatically, eyes distant.  "How long was she out that night?"

"Oh I don't know, she wasn't there for dinner and I didn't give a damn.  She came home way past her bedtime and I didn't even say anything, just sent her straight to bed.  She probably went with those friends of hers - that Janey and Marina."

"She's not supposed to go with Marina.  That's part of her probation," he said.

"Nalo, I wasn't gonna tell the police about it."

"You shoulda talked to her at least if you thought she was with Marina," he said absently, then left the kitchen and went into the living room.  Lisa shrugged and started to pour coffee for the adults.  Briscoe followed Curtis into the living room.  Curtis was gazing at Serena as she cuddled Tania on her lap.

"Rey?"

"Don't," Curtis said quietly.  "Just - don't.  It doesn't mean anything."

===

_Monday, December 22  
9:30am_

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do," Curtis' voice was firm, his manner calm and steady as he took the stand in his own defense.  McCoy gave his notes one final glance, getting ready for a long morning of testimony.

"Mr. Curtis, could you state for the record what you did on the night that your mother died?"

"I left my apartment at about 7:30 that night.  I went to a bar, Rosario's, on 59th Street, and met the young woman who testified last week, Rita Johannes.  We went to her place, I left around ten o'clock, walked for a few hours, and came home slightly past 1:30 a.m."

"Ms. Johannes testified that you were heavily intoxicated that night, to the tune of about eight beers and two or three marijuana joints, is that correct?"

"Yes it is."

"And Ms. Johannes also testified that you engaged in sexual activity with her at Rosario's, as well as at her apartment."

"Yes I did."

"Anything you'd like to say about that?"

Curtis pressed his lips together slightly, and looked directly at McCoy.  "I don't have any excuse for my actions that night.  I'm not proud of what I did.  But it has nothing to do with my mother's death."

"Now, during this whole trial we've all been treated to various tales of your behaviour, not just that night but over the last few years.  It's not a pretty picture.  We've heard of your exhaustion and irritability, your poor performance at work, your various indiscretions, your drug use... and we've been told that all of this shows that you are a person who could easily commit a crime like murder, since you were already doing so many other things that you would never have done a few years ago.  What do you have to say about this?"

"As I said, I don't have any excuse for my actions.  I haven't lived up to my own idea of what is acceptable behaviour in the last few years.  I've shown extremely poor judgment in many areas of my life.  It doesn't mean I'm capable of murder."

McCoy paused for a moment, allowing that line of questioning to conclude in the jury's mind before going on to the next.  "How have you felt in the last few years?" he asked gently.

Curtis looked down briefly, gathering himself for the next section of questions.  He cleared his throat.  "I've been depressed for a long time.  I didn't think of it that way, I thought I was just tired and upset because of what was going on in my family, and because of how poorly I was handling the situation."

"When did you come to the conclusion that you had been depressed?"

"After my arrest, the court psychiatrist who interviewed me, Dr. Skoda, diagnosed me with clinical depression.  I hadn't honestly given it much thought before that.  He prescribed anti-depressants and suggested counseling and support, none of which I felt was relevant to me at the time."  He cleared his throat again.  "But I started to notice a difference in my mood and ability to cope as the anti-depressants took effect, as the support systems went into place.  Somewhere in the last couple of months I realized that Dr. Skoda was probably correct in his diagnosis."

"What do you think of Mr. Silcox's assertion that Father Morelli's negligence as a spiritual advisor led to your depression, led you to feel trapped and despairing, led you to feel that you had no choice but to murder your mother when she got sick?"

Curtis spared a brief glance at where Morelli was sitting in the courtroom.  "I can't agree with that.  Father Morelli is my spiritual advisor, not my keeper.  He's not responsible for my actions.  He didn't make me feel guilty, or set me up to fail, or push me into depression.  All of that was just... life," he shrugged.  "And he definitely did not lead me to believe I had no choice but to end my mother's life."

"What were you going to do with your mother as she became more impaired?"

"To be honest, at the time of her death I hadn't let myself think about it yet.  I was too bogged down with trying to deal with my life right then to worry about what would happen later."

"Surely you must have thought about it sometimes."

Curtis shook his head.  "I didn't.  I didn't let myself.  When I did, I prayed to God that something would make things OK - that He would find some way to make it possible for me to take care of everybody.  I couldn't find a way out; I just hoped that God could."

"That seems hard to believe, that you weren't thinking about it."

"It seems hard for me to believe it now too, now that I'm feeling better and feeling more able to cope," Curtis admitted.  "It's... it's hard to relate to how depressed I was a few months ago.  But what I remember is feeling so exhausted and so overwhelmed with the present that it wasn't that difficult to not think of the future."

"Did you ever think about ending your mother's life?"

"No."

"Did you know about the changes to your mother's will and insurance policy?"

"No."

"If you had known, would that have made you think of ending her life?"

"No."

"Would you have considered ending your mother's life as an act of mercy?  After all, she was suffering from Alzheimer's."

"My mother was in the early stages of Alzheimer's.  She was still competent.  She was able to live on her own, go to work, pay her bills... she just forgot appointments sometimes, went out and forgot why she was out, sometimes had trouble remembering what she was doing.  It wasn't serious yet."

"What about once her Alzheimer's got serious?  Would you have considered euthanasia then?"

"I'm Catholic.  I believe it's not up to us to decide when a person will die.  Only God can decide that.  I don't believe in euthanasia."  He paused and looked down.  "I don't honestly know, though.  Whatever your beliefs, it can be very difficult to see somebody you love suffering.  I don't know how I would have felt as her illness progressed.  I can definitely say she was nowhere near a stage where her death could be called euthanasia."

As McCoy took them through Curtis' testimony, part of his mind was, as always, noticing how different people were on the stand and off.  It never ceased to amuse McCoy to see how cops, so streetwise and tough-talking out of the courtroom, transformed themselves into eloquent professionals on the stand.  With the occasional exception of Lennie Briscoe, none of the cops he worked with sounded anything like their regular selves on the stand.  McCoy always wondered how much of that was rehearsal and taking on a court persona, and how much of it was dropping the tough cop act.

He reflected that the man before him was remarkably similar to the man he'd had on the stand numerous times when they worked together.  Curtis had always been an excellent witness as a cop, and he was no less so as a defendant.  Gone were the hesitation, the nervous mannerisms and even the informal speech ('ghetto-mouth', his sister had called it) that McCoy had gotten used to in the last few weeks.  Curtis was convincing the jury even as he watched.  He just hoped that Curtis would continue to do as well on cross.

===

_Monday, December 22  
7:45pm_

Briscoe took off his coat, finally getting home after a long day, feeling tired, but good.  One of his cases was close to wrapping up.  He'd talked to McCoy earlier in the afternoon and found him sounding extremely pleased with Curtis' testimony that day.  It seemed Curtis had done very well, both on direct and on cross.  Part of that was due to the fact that it seemed Silcox's one stroke of inspiration during this trial had been Father Morelli's testimony.  According to McCoy, his cross of the defense witnesses, including Curtis, had been workmanlike and thorough, but plodding.  Lucky for them.

As soon as Briscoe had settled onto his couch and turned on the TV, the phone rang.  Briscoe groaned and answered it, hearing Curtis' voice say urgently, "Lennie, I need to talk to you.  Can you call Jack and get over here?"

"Sure, what's going on?"

"Just call Jack.  It's important."

They arrived at Curtis's apartment half an hour later.  Curtis took one look at them and grabbed a laundry basket that he'd left next to the front door, calling over his shoulder at his family, "Laundry time, be back later," and led them down the stairs quickly.  Once they reached the laundry room, he shut the door and turned on them.

"You bastards!  You tipped them off!  I told you, I told you both, that I did not want you to investigate Serena!!"

"What?!" "What happened?" McCoy and Briscoe spoke simultaneously.

"I got a call from Janey Suarez' mother an hour ago.  She says the police are talking to Janey about Serena.  They've been there twice, and they've talked to Dolores Fitzhugh.  Who'd you tell?" he looked from one to the other accusingly.

Briscoe shook his head quickly.  "I - I didn't tell anybody... maybe one of the people my assistant talked to called the police..." McCoy said, mind racing.

"Fuck!  It doesn't matter now.  They're investigating her.  God damn it!"  He slammed his hand on the laundry room table, then leaned against it, rubbing his forehead agitatedly.

Briscoe approached him.  "OK, OK, relax, Rey.  We'll figure something out," he put his hand on Curtis' shoulder.

Curtis shrugged it off.  "Don't tell me to relax!  My daughter is being investigated for murder!  What the hell am I supposed to do?!" He pushed off the table.  "Fuck!!" he paced for a moment.  "Christ, Lennie, a few weeks ago I was so messed up you had to remind me when to eat!  You had to stay with me through the night just so I wouldn't kill myself!  And now I'm supposed to make life or death decisions for my whole family?  Jesus Christ!  I can't handle this!" his voice was panicked, hands shaking and breath shallow.

"Rey!  Stop it!" McCoy said firmly.  "You're not where you were a few weeks ago.  You can handle this, and you don't have to do it alone.  We're right here," he pushed Curtis into the only chair in the room.  "Sit.  Take a deep breath."  Curtis looked at him, eyes filled with fear.

Briscoe put a hand on his shoulder again.  "Breathe.  You can do this."  Curtis closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down, putting his head in his hands for a moment.  Briscoe and McCoy waited until his labored breathing evened out a bit and he sat up.  He looked up at them helplessly.

"Shit.  I have no idea what to do.  What I wouldn't give for a joint right now," he shook his head immediately, saying impatiently as Briscoe's eyebrows went up, "No, I don't have any, Lennie, I told you I wasn't gonna do it any more.  I just - I wish I had some way to steady my nerves, that's all."

"OK, OK, what did Janey's mother say?"  Briscoe asked, leaning on the laundry table.

"Colton's been to see her twice in the last couple of days.  Dolores' mother told her he'd been to see her yesterday too. She said 'they're talking to a lot of people,' but wouldn't tell me anybody other than herself and Dolores' family."

"What did he ask about?"

"My mother's will.  Serena's relationship with her," he paused, thoughts racing.  "Which means they know what she said at Soledad's party.  And probably what she said after my mother died.  And if they figure out that she was out of the apartment for hours the night my mother died, that's it.  Means, motive and opportunity.  God damn it!"  He stood up, clenching his fists, thinking rapidly.  "Jack, do you think that deal is still available?"

"What?  Now?" McCoy shook his head, not understanding.  "Rey, the trial is going well!  Your testimony was good, the jury believed you.  I don't think you need that deal."

"You think I'm gonna get off, don't you?  And Silcox thinks so too."

"Yes."

He nodded, "And when I do, they'll arrest Serena.  That's why Silcox was just going through the motions during cross, because he's throwing the case.  They don't think I did it any more, they think Serena did it."

"That doesn't mean they're gonna charge her," Briscoe pointed out quickly.

"Or that she'll be convicted if she is charged," McCoy added.

"She's got a criminal record, I don't.  And she's got a history of violence, and she knew about my mother's will, and there's witnesses that'll testify that she didn't like my mother, that she pushed her, broke her stuff, said she was happy my mother died... and the murder was sloppy, like a child might commit, not a former homicide detective," he paused.  "I want you to call Silcox.  Tell him I'll take the deal."

McCoy and Briscoe looked at each other, stunned.  Events were moving too quickly.  Curtis had obviously been thinking about this since the call from Mrs. Suarez, but they hadn't had a chance to process it yet, hadn't had time to think out all the implications of what was happening.

"Rey, what if she is guilty?  What if she looks guilty because she is?" Briscoe asked urgently.

"She's not!"

"What if she is?" Briscoe pressed.

"I don't care!  She's my daughter.  I have to protect her."

"Does that mean going to jail for her?"  McCoy challenged.

"Yes!"

"Even if she's guilty?"

"Yes!"

"You don't mean that," Briscoe protested.

"When your daughter was facing charges, you said if you could take the fall for her you would, remember?"

"She was stealing drugs!  She didn't kill anybody!"

"Neither did Serena!"

"And if she's guilty?" McCoy insisted.  "If she killed your mother? What's to stop her from killing somebody else?  Somebody else who's inconvenient to her?  Like Tania?"

"She didn't do it.  And if she's tried, she will be convicted.  I can't let that happen."

"So she'll go to Spofford.  It's not the end of the world.  Kids survive Spofford," Briscoe said harshly.

"She won't," Curtis shook his head and faced them directly.  "When she was arrested for drug dealing, I made her turn State.  She testified against the drug dealer and the kids who helped him recruit the elementary school kids.  Her testimony helped put them away," he looked down, twisting his wedding ring.  "One of them, Tammy Morisen, got three years at Spofford and she swore she'd kill Serena.  She's already almost beaten another kid there to death.  Serena goes there, and she's done."

There was silence for a minute as McCoy and Briscoe digested this.

"So you're gonna take the fall for her?" Briscoe finally asked, not quite believing this, but realizing that Curtis was deadly serious.  He flailed around for something, anything, to talk him out of it.  "Rey, if you're in prison... who takes care of your family?  They'll go into foster care.  You know what that means.  That's no way to grow up."

"I don't see any other way!" Curtis told him, voice anguished.  Briscoe held his gaze, realizing that he didn't either.

"You'll have to allocute.  You'll have to lie under oath," McCoy protested desperately.  Curtis nodded grimly.  "You told me once that you can't just forget about your faith whenever you want.  What do you call this?"

Curtis regarded him steadily for a moment.  Then he sighed and crossed his arms, leaning against a washing machine.  "My faith..." he blew out his breath and looked away bitterly.  "I have lost my faith so many times in the last few years.  I've never doubted the existence of God, but I've sure as hell doubted he's a kind and loving God.  But..." he shook his head, trying to put his thoughts into words.

"You know what my children are to me?  They're - they're the greatest gift God ever gave me.  My greatest article of faith, the greatest testament of God's existence that I have, are my kids.  And my responsibility to them... that's the greatest responsibility I have," he paused.  "I'm not saying perjury isn't a sin.  But... for me the Eleventh Commandment is Honour Thy Children.  And I've already failed them enough.  I've already failed Serena enough," he swallowed.  He closed his eyes briefly, opened them and looked straight at McCoy.  "In foster care, she has a chance.  In juvie, her life is over.  I can't let that happen," he said simply.

McCoy held his gaze for a moment.  Then he shook his head.  "I won't let you do this.  It would be suborning perjury."

"You didn't have a problem with it when you wanted me to plead out the first time."

"The first time, you weren't going to do it to cover up for somebody else's crime.  I believe Serena committed this murder.  I won't let you take the fall for her."

Curtis's eyes hardened.  "I don't believe she did.  I know my daughter."

"I don't think you can be objective.  I think she's guilty and you just don't want to see it," McCoy shot back.

"The other day you were just as sure that my mother committed suicide and Father Morelli knew about it," Curtis pointed out.

"I'm not sure of that any more.  This explanation makes more sense, knowing what I know of the case.  And I can't let you lie on the stand to cover for a killer."

Curtis looked away for a moment, then back at McCoy.  He crossed his arms and took a deep breath.  "I knew about my mother's will, that's probably where Serena heard it from.  And I know what she had for dinner that night.  She had fish and vegetable stew.  Feel better about letting me plead?"

McCoy's eyes widened in disbelief.  "You're saying you did it?"

"Good for you, Counselor."

"I don't believe you.  You've maintained your innocence all along-"

"This surprises you?  A murderer lying - what are the odds?"

"I don't believe you either," Briscoe declared.

"I don't care what you believe," Curtis said bluntly.  "He's the one who's gotta let me plead."

"It doesn't matter what we believe anyway.  You can't decide this without Deborah," Briscoe said, desperately playing for time.

Curtis looked at Briscoe, despair in his eyes.  "Oh god," he swallowed hard.  "What the hell am I gonna say to her?  This'll kill her."

===

"Olivia, take your sisters outside.  Don't - don't come back in until we come get you, OK?" Curtis said a few minutes later, back at the apartment.  The girls dressed and left quickly, sensing something serious was going on from the grim expressions on the faces of their father, Briscoe and McCoy.  Deborah looked from one to the other, growing alarm in her eyes, as they sat themselves at the kitchen table.  Curtis took her hand in both of his and began without preamble.

"The police are investigating Serena in connection to my mother's death."

"What?!"

"They know that Serena and my mother didn't get along.  And Serena knew about her will."

"What?  How?"

"I don't know.  But she knew about it at Soli's birthday party, in mid-September.  And Dolores said she was happy my mother died because we'd get the money and I wouldn't have to take care of her."

Deborah was speechless.

"I have to take the deal."

"What?!"

"I have take the deal.  Man One, six years."

Deborah stared at him.  "Just like that?"

"If I'm acquitted, she'll go to Spofford.  She's got a record.  It would be a much stronger case."

Deborah covered her mouth, horrified and overwhelmed.  Then she narrowed her eyes at Curtis.  "Did you know about any of this?"  Curtis looked away from her.  She swallowed.  "You did, didn't you?"  He looked at her, opening his mouth as if to say something, then closing it again.  Her voice hardened and she withdrew her hand from his.  "How much did you know?"

He let out his breath.  "All of it."

"How long?"

"Since before the trial," his words were slow, reluctant.

"And you didn't think to tell me?" her voice was low, a slight tremor in it.  Curtis paled, looking down and crossing his arms.

"Deborah..." his voice was also low.  Briscoe and McCoy glanced at each other, both suddenly feeling a gathering storm in the room.  Deborah looked like she was trying to control rising anger, and Curtis looked like somebody who could see the signs of an imminent explosion.

"You didn't think I should know?"  Same dangerously quiet voice.

"I-"

"Did it occur to you that as her mother I had a right to know?"

"It was just suspicion-"

"How dare you!" Deborah was suddenly furious, voice rising and dark eyes snapping with outrage.  "I'm an invalid, not an idiot!  How DARE you treat me like this?!"

"I was trying to protect you-" Curtis said, enunciating every word clearly, lips thinning.

"You son of a bitch!  I don't need your protection!  In case you forgot, I'm your wife, not your child!  You had NO right to keep this from me!"

"What the hell did you want me to say?!" Curtis was suddenly furious too.  "In case you forgot, you weren't even around before the trial!  You weren't even talking to me!  You'd ditched us!"

"I ditched because you couldn't handle taking care of all of us!  I was doing it for you and for the girls!"

Curtis slammed his hand on the table, causing Briscoe to jump slightly.  "You were doing it because that's your answer to everything - the minute things get tough you get the hell out!"

"And what's your answer - getting drunk and doing drugs and fucking strangers?!"  Curtis flinched as if she had struck him, and stood up quickly, walking away.  "Get back here!"

"I can't talk to you when you're like this," he said, his voice shaking.  He crossed his arms, looking out the window, breathing harsh.  McCoy and Briscoe glanced at each other, not sure what to do.  It seemed Curtis and his wife had forgotten they were even there.

"Now who's ditching?!"

"I am not ditching!" he bit his lip, trying to keep calm.  When he spoke again, his voice was tightly controlled.  "You're scared about Serena and you're reacting by getting angry and taking it out on me.  Well I'm scared too.  And I'm trying to not take it out on you and say something I'm gonna regret!"

"Really?  Self-restraint, from you?  That's rich.  You don't wanna say something you're gonna regret?  Like what?  Come on, like what?" she needled him.  He lost his temper again and whirled around to face her.

"Like pointing out that you're being a bitch!  Maybe I was wrong to keep this from you, but you woulda done the exact same thing if you'd known!  I don't have a monopoly on keeping secrets in this house, Deborah!!"  Deborah opened her mouth for a sharp retort, and he rushed on, "And as for your 'we're trying to move on' crap, that's pretty rich too!  I know you!  You talk forgiveness, but for the rest of our lives you're gonna throw me sleeping around in my face every time we fight!!"

"Every time we fight?  If you're gonna go away for six years, I don't think we'll have much opportunity, do you?  I'll be as good as dead by the time you get out!"

"And this is how we're gonna spend our last night together?  Tearing each other to pieces?"

"Why not?!  We're good at it, we've had lots of practice!"

"Fine!  Call me a son of a bitch, throw every stupid thing I've ever done at me if it makes you happy!  I fucked up, OK?!  Again!!  I should have told you!  I admit it!  It doesn't change the fact that we have to decide what to do about this now!"

"You've already decided!  You're gonna take the deal, you're gonna commit perjury, no matter what I say.  This is just a formality, I don't get a say!"

"If you have a better suggestion, I'd like to hear it!"

"I don't!  I haven't had a chance to think about this!  I would have if you'd bothered to keep me in the loop, but you were too busy lying to me, as usual!!"

"I wasn't lying, I was trying to protect you!!"

"I don't need your protection!  I'm not that fragile!  You're the one on anti-depressants, not me!"

"Only because you're too goddamn stubborn to even admit you have a problem-"

The door opened, and Olivia stood at the doorway.  Curtis and Deborah turned to look at her, and Deborah screamed, "Get out!  We told you to stay out until somebody came to get you!!"

"We can hear you all the way down the stairs," Olivia informed them quietly.  Curtis blew his breath out in frustration.  "I guess the honeymoon's over, huh?" she said bitterly.  Curtis looked at her for a long moment, then closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, taking a deep, shaking breath.  Deborah covered her mouth with a trembling hand.  "Isabel's crying.  She wants to know if you're gonna leave us again," Olivia told Deborah.  "What should I tell her?"

Curtis and Deborah locked gazes, their anger dying rapidly and being replaced by regret just as quickly.  There was a brief silence, broken by Curtis, who cleared his throat.  "Deborah?  Are you going to leave?" he asked quietly.  Deborah looked down into her lap.

"No.  Olivia, go back downstairs please."

Olivia glanced at Briscoe and McCoy, then closed the door.  They listened to her footsteps going down the stairs.  Curtis sat back down heavily, looking down at his hands.

Deborah glanced at Briscoe and McCoy briefly, shamefaced, and said quietly, "That was inexcusable.  I'm sorry."  Curtis nodded, silently adding his own apology to hers.  McCoy and Briscoe nodded quickly, accepting their apologies, both wanting to get past this.

Curtis hesitantly reached for Deborah's hand.  She grasped his, and they gazed at each other for a long moment, contrition and fear on both of their faces.  Curtis shook his head, mouthing, "I'm sorry," and Deborah nodded, closing her eyes.  Curtis took a deep breath.  "Deborah... we have to figure out what to do."  Deborah chewed on her lip nervously.  After a moment, Curtis looked at McCoy and Briscoe.

"I think... I think we need to work this out in private," Deborah nodded.  "I - I know, you're my lawyer, you should be part of any legal decisions we make.  But... I think this has to be between me and Deborah.  We'll give you a call when we've decided."

"Closing arguments are tomorrow.  Whatever you decide, it'll have to be soon," McCoy pointed out.

"Can you get a continuance?"

"I'll start working on it.  I'll call Judge Greico tonight."

===

As Briscoe drove McCoy home, both were silent, thinking over what had happened.  The fight between Curtis and Deborah had been ugly and vicious, giving them a glimpse of how things must have been between them in the last few years.  Both could remember fights like that in their own failed marriages.

Of course, the situation they were in would strain any couple.  They were facing a choice that nobody should ever have to make: whether to break up their family for six years, harming themselves and all four of their children irrevocably, or let one of their children be convicted and possibly killed, for a crime they did not believe she had committed.  It wasn't surprising that they had reacted by lashing out at each other, given that their marriage had been on rocky ground until very recently and was still shaky.

McCoy prepared for a sleepless night, waiting for Curtis' decision.  He knew that if he were in Curtis' position, he would probably want to take the deal too.  But wanting to do it and actually doing it were two different things.  A parent's natural reaction to shield their child from harm sometimes had to yield to other considerations.  Such as the law.  He wondered whether Curtis and his wife would even consider that, consider the fact that their daughter could have committed murder and that if she had, she had to answer for her crime.

===

_Tuesday, December 23  
10:02am_

McCoy strode into the 27th Precinct, having received a call from Curtis that Serena had been arrested.  He'd left Judge Greico behind to instruct the jury that the trial would be adjourned until after the holidays.

"Counselor, this is a change," Lieutenant Van Buren greeted him.  "You coming in as a defense lawyer.  Never thought I'd see the day."

"You knew I took on Rey's case, didn't you?"

"Yes, it's just strange to see you coming into the precinct and not being on our side."

"Where's Lennie?"

"He's in one of the interview rooms with Rey's sister and his other daughters," she said.  "McCoy..." McCoy paused on his way to the interrogation room.  Van Buren cleared her throat.  "Do what you can to help Rey," she said finally.  McCoy nodded.

He entered the observation room and quickly went past Colton and Green into the interrogation room.  Curtis, his wife and Serena were in the room, Serena looking very small and scared, all three of them sitting very close together.

"What's happened?"

"We haven't talked to them.  I refused to let her say anything until you got here," Curtis told him.

"OK.  You haven't said anything?  None of you?"  They all shook their heads.  "Good.  Don't.  I'm going to find out what they have on you," he said to Serena.  She nodded, eyes wide.  McCoy walked back into the observation room.

"You her lawyer too, McCoy?" asked Colton.

"I am now.  What have you got?"

"Lots and lots and lots, Counselor," Colton opened up his notes.  "She's got a criminal record for drug dealing.  History of violence, suspended three times for fighting in school.  Three neighbours and a teacher say she hated her grandmother.  Teacher heard her say she wished her grandmother was dead.  Neighbour says she deliberately broke her grandmother's clock and a few collectible plates.  Pushed her grandmother once, almost down the stairs, says another neighbour.  Knew about her grandmother's will before her death - two witnesses say that.  Said she was happy the old lady was gone so her family would get the money.  Neighbour spotted her out of her apartment late at night, the night her grandmother died.  That enough for you, McCoy?"

McCoy turned and went back into the interrogation room.  Curtis took one look at him and read from his face that the situation was bad.  He and Deborah nodded at each other grimly.  He cleared his throat.

"We decided, Jack.  I'm taking the deal."

McCoy looked at Serena.  "Did you even ask her whether she did it?"

"Yes," Deborah said quietly, reaching out and hugging Serena close.  Curtis swallowed hard.

"She didn't do it, Jack," he said, his voice rough.

McCoy closed his eyes, appalled, knowing how heart-wrenching it must have been for Curtis and his wife to even admit to enough doubt to ask Serena the question.  Knowing that there wasn't anything he could do now to change Curtis' mind.  He went out and broke the news to Van Buren.

===

Half an hour later, Briscoe brought the rest of the family in to join them in the interrogation room.  Lisa glared at Curtis, confused and angry.

"It's perjury, Nalo!  You can't do this!"

"Lisa-" Deborah began.

"And you're just letting him do it!  You're just-" Lisa broke off, too furious to speak.

"Lisa, please.  I don't have much time before they take me in.  You're not gonna change my mind so just let me say goodbye to my kids in peace, OK?" Curtis' voice was firm.  Lisa shook her head in disbelief, then sat down with Tania in her lap and held her tongue.

"What's perjury?" asked Isabel.

Curtis sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  "When you testify in court, you have to put your hand on the Bible and swear that you'll tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God.  And if you don't tell the truth, that's perjury.  It's a crime.  You can go to jail for it."

"And it's a sin.  You can't swear to God, with your hand on the Bible, and then lie," Isabel said.

Curtis nodded slowly.

"Is that what you're gonna do?" she asked him seriously.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"You're gonna lie in court, after swearing that you're gonna tell the truth?" she looked at him in disbelief.

"I don't have a choice."

"Why?" Olivia asked.

"Because they think Serena did it.  They arrested her because they think she killed Nona.  I can't let Serena go to jail for that."

"So... you're gonna say you did it?  Is that what you told Jack?  And they're gonna send you to jail instead of me?" Serena asked with mounting horror.  He nodded.  She stood up, flushing darkly and staring at him, trying to understand.  "How come you're doing this?  You don't even like me!  We're always fighting, I'm always mouthing off at you!  And you're gonna go to jail for me?"

Curtis smiled at her sadly.  "You're my daughter. When you have kids, you'll understand," he said simply.

"You're gonna go to jail!  You're gonna not be here for years!  What kinda father does that!  Who's gonna take care of us?" she wailed.  Curtis winced and tried to put his hand on her shoulder.  She shook him off.  "And you're... you're gonna commit a sin!  You're gonna lie after putting your hand on the Bible, and you're gonna go to Hell!"

"We're all sinners, Serena.  Some of us more than others," he reminded her.  He regarded her for a long moment.  "You're always pointing out my sins, and I know I've committed a lot of them.  But... I'm doing this to protect you," he bit his lip and paused, then continued.  "I don't know if God can forgive me for what I'm about to do.  I don't know if I can forgive myself.  But I know I couldn't forgive myself if I failed to protect you.  I've failed you enough already."

Serena looked at him, desperation growing in her eyes.  "But - but, you got arrested but you said that didn't mean you were gonna go to jail.  Jack said the trial would prove you didn't do it.  Why can't I just have a trial, like you?"

"Because the case against you is stronger, sweetie," he told her reluctantly.  "You have a record.  There's witnesses that'll say that you and Nona fought a lot, you didn't get along with her, and you knew about her will.  You'd be convicted."

"But I didn't do it!"

Deborah shook her head.  "Sweetheart, nobody will believe you except us," she said gently.  Serena clenched her hands together.

"What's gonna happen to you in prison?" asked Olivia quietly.

"Hopefully, not a lot, except I'll miss all of you.  Six years is a long time, but it's not forever.  I'll still be able to go to your high school graduations."

"But what's gonna happen to you?  People get hurt in prison."

Curtis hesitated, clearly torn.  Finally he grimaced and began to speak in quiet, even tones.  "I'll probably do my time in solitary confinement for my own protection.  I'm - I _was_ a cop.  That won't make me very popular with the other inmates.  So if I'm released into the general population, the other inmates will probably try to make things tough for me."

"What do you mean, tough?  Cause Herbie's dad was in jail and he said people get killed all the time and-" Serena was becoming frantic.  Curtis put a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"I might get beaten up.  Not killed.  You don't have to worry about it, I'll be in protective custody."

"Promise?" asked Isabel.

"I promise I'll do my best to go into protective custody."

"You can't promise, can you?" Olivia said grimly.  "It's not just up to you.  Don't lie to us.  You always lie to protect us but we always figure it out.  Just tell us the truth."

"What about all the other stuff Herbie's dad said, 'cause he made a lot of jokes about... he said there was a cop in there that was everybody's girlfriend and-" Serena blurted.

Curtis interrupted her.  "First off, don't spend any more time with Herbie."  He looked at Deborah and spread his hands helplessly.  "I can't - I can't do this.  I can't explain this to my own daughters..."

Deborah put her hand on his arm and took over, voice matter-of-fact. "You know what rape, is, right?  It's when you're forced to have sex against your will.  People joke about it happening in prison all the time and I'm sure your friends will make lots of comments when they find out Daddy's in prison.  That's another reason he'll be in protective custody, so it won't happen to him."

"Can't you defend yourself?" Olivia asked him.

"Against one person, yeah, probably.  Against a gang, or even one person with a knife, no, probably not." He looked at them, trying to reassure them.  "Don't worry about me.  The most danger I'll probably be in is going nuts from being alone in a cell all the time."

"Aren't you scared, Daddy?"  Olivia asked, her voice small.

Curtis regarded her seriously for a long time.  Finally he said, "I'd love to tell you I'm not, I'd love to tell you I'm sure nothing bad is gonna happen.  But the truth is, I am scared.  I hope I can get through it OK."

"Why are you doing this?" Serena asked again.

"You're my daughter.  If you go to juvie... it's not much better than prison, and you'd be a target too because you testified against those other kids."  He touched her arm gently.  "Serena, I'm a grown man.  I'll survive anything that happens to me and heal.  You won't.  I can't allow that.  And it doesn't matter to me that it's perjury and that I swore to uphold the law.  Your life is a lot more important than any oath I ever took - or any oath I ever will take."

Serena stared at him for a moment, then her face crumpled and she started to cry.  "Daddy, don't..." she said brokenly.  "Don't, don't go away," she sobbed, eyes pleading.  Lisa stifled a sob, hugging Tania closer.  "I'll be better, I won't get in trouble any more, please don't..." Curtis drew her close and she flung her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I was so bad, please don't go away Daddy..."

Curtis closed his eyes, stroking her hair and fighting for calm.  Briscoe left the room, leaving the family to say their goodbyes in privacy.

===

Twenty minutes later, Colton and Green came into the interrogation room to take Curtis into custody.  Curtis gave his family one final embrace and stood up, facing Colton.

"So he's doing this for you, kid," Colton sneered at Serena. "How's it feel, getting your dad put in jail?  Nice Christmas present for him, huh?"

"Shut up, Colton," Curtis said wearily.

"Hey!  Watch your mouth, hump.  You're not a cop any more, you're a prisoner.  You don't get to tell me to shut up."

"Damn it, Colton-" Colton took a menacing step towards him and Curtis stood his ground, regarding him seriously.  Something in his expression made Colton stop in his tracks and listen.  "You've been on my case from the beginning and I can respect that. You're a cop and I'm a suspect and you do what you have to, to get a confession.  But you've got a confession now.  You won.  Now you're just being vindictive.  Leave my family alone."  Colton looked at him, nonplussed.

Green shouldered past Colton, giving him a quick quelling glance, and placed his hand on Curtis' shoulder.  "Let's go, Rey," he said quietly, taking him to the holding cell.

===

_Tuesday, December 23  
10:47pm_

"Jack?"  Briscoe stood up from where he'd been leaning against McCoy's motorcycle, waiting for him to appear.

"How is everybody?"  McCoy asked tiredly, stashing his briefcase in the motorcycle's side compartment and starting to put on his winter riding gear.

"I took them back to Rey's house.  Serena's upset, the rest of them... I don't think it's sunk in yet."

"Is Lisa still here?"

"Yeah, she's taking care of everybody for now.  She, uh, she said she's thinking of moving here, leaving her husband and moving into Rey's apartment.  She might take care of the girls and Deborah while he's doing time.  I don't know how likely that is though.  How's Rey?"

"Seems OK.  He's back in lock-up.  They processed him and the allocution hearing is scheduled for tomorrow," McCoy shook his head wearily.  "Merry Christmas."

Briscoe gazed down at the ground, unable to believe that they'd come so close to getting Curtis acquitted only to fail now.  He had to remind himself that it was hardly a sure thing that they would have gotten Curtis off.  It was conceivable that if the trial had been allowed to finish, the jury could have found Curtis guilty of second-degree murder and sentenced him to fifteen years instead of six.  But it had looked like it was going so well...

"Lennie.  I checked with the ME."

"Yeah?"

"She did have fish and vegetable stew that night."

"So?"

"So how did Rey know that?  He said he hadn't been to see her before dinner that night.  He never saw the ME's report.  How did he know what she ate?"

"Come on, you didn't seriously fall for that?"  McCoy met his eyes expressionlessly.  "You wanna buy a mint-condition bridge from me next?  He just said that so you'd let him allocute."

"Are you sure?"

Briscoe thought back to the first few weeks that Curtis had been at his home, and thought about how he'd doubted Curtis's innocence too.  He closed his eyes for a second, and realized that at some point in the last few weeks, his doubts had disappeared.

"Yeah, I'm sure.  I had a few doubts, but I'm absolutely sure now.  He didn't do it."

"Then how did he know?"

Briscoe thought for a moment.  "Off the top of my head I can think of three different ways.  Maybe he checked on her at dinnertime the day before and she had enough for leftovers for the next day.  Maybe he cooked for everyone at his house and brought down leftovers for her.  Maybe Lisa made her dinner that night and mentioned what she made."

McCoy considered his words, staring off into space.  "He didn't do it, Jack," Briscoe repeated.  McCoy finally nodded and put on his helmet, climbing onto his bike and starting on the long road home.

===

_Thursday, December 24  
9:30am_

"Swear in the defendant."

"Place your hand on the Bible, please."  Curtis did so.  "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do," Curtis' voice was firm.

"Mr. Curtis, you are pleading guilty to the charge of Manslaughter in the First Degree in the death of Estela Curtis.  Did you in fact commit the crime?" asked Judge Greico.

"Yes I did."

"For the record, please tell the court how you committed the crime."

"On the night of September 27th, I left my house at 7:30 and went to a bar on 59th Street.  I met Rita Johannes at the bar and went to her apartment.  I left Ms. Johannes' home at quarter to ten and went to my mother's apartment.  I had previously taken some of my wife's medication, Methotrexate, and ground up several of the pills.  I put them in a vegetable stew for my mother, brought it to her and gave her wine, which I knew reacted lethally with the medication."

"Then what did you do?"

"My mother fell asleep shortly after dinner.  I left her apartment and went for a walk outside.  I did not expect anybody would check on my mother until morning. I thought she would die in her sleep and it would be assumed that she took the pills by accident, since she had Alzheimer's."

"You have a plea bargain in place?"

Silcox spoke up.  "Yes, Your Honour, the People have agreed to a sentence of six years, owing to Mr. Curtis' state of mind at the time of his mother's death and the pressures that he was under.  The People have also agreed to request protective custody for Mr. Curtis during his incarceration, considering the fact that he was in law enforcement."

"Very well.  The defendant is hereby sentenced to six years at a correctional facility to be determined by the State.  Bailiff, please take Mr. Curtis into custody.  We are adjourned."

Curtis and Deborah gazed at each other one last time before he was cuffed and led out of the courtroom.


	9. Purgatory

**Chapter 9: Purgatory**

Disclaimer: Not mine, Dick Wolf's.  No permission, no profit, no money, yadda yadda.

Feedback gratefully appreciated at

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_Wednesday, December 24  
9:56pm_

McCoy entered St. Ignacio's Church and found it filled, candles and incense burning and a full congregation celebrating the end of Early Mass on Christmas Eve.  He stayed at the back of the church, not really following the Mass since it was in Spanish, but getting the gist of it.  It was pretty much the same pattern as Christmas Mass at his own church.  He tried to remember when was the last time he'd gone to church... was it October?  No, the leaves hadn't turned yet... oh, September, second Sunday in September, that was it.  Right after the Kwon case.  Had to stop working through Sundays.

"El Señor este con ustedes," intoned Father Morelli.

"Y con tu Espíritu," chorused the congregation.

"El Señor todopoderoso los bendiga, El Padre, y El Hijo, y El Espíritu Santo," Morelli blessed them.

"Amen," the congregation replied, crossing themselves, McCoy adding his own soft "Amen," and crossing himself as well.

"El Señor nos ha liberado del pecado. Vayan en paz," Morelli inclined his head towards them, and towards the altar.

"Demos gracias a Dios," the congregation murmured as the priests and altar servers began the procession out.

The congregation started putting on their winter wear and preparing to leave.  McCoy stayed in the church as it slowly emptied, thinking, looking at the statues and stained glass windows, the Stations of the Cross, the altar.  Looked at the people staying behind to pray, some at the pews, others at the statues of the Holy Family, some going into the confessionals.  Pretty busy for this time of night, but then, it was Christmas Eve.  Morelli would undoubtedly be extremely busy as well, but McCoy didn't plan on taking much of his time.

He lit a candle, crossed himself and said a brief prayer, as always a little surprised at himself that he, a rational and not terribly introspective or spiritual person, still found comfort and solace in the rituals of his youth.  Still believed in them to some extent.  Still occasionally prayed for guidance, as he was doing now.

Finally he made his way to Father Morelli's office and knocked.  Morelli was there with two other priests, and he looked at McCoy with initial annoyance, quickly replaced with subtle apology.

"Father, can I have a moment of your time please?" McCoy said, part of him inwardly amused at the deferent tone that still crept into his voice of its own volition in the presence of clergy, even after all these years.  Once a Catholic schoolboy, always a Catholic schoolboy.

"Yes, of course, Mr. McCoy.  Es el abogado de Reynaldo Curtis," he said to the other two priests, indicating the door.  The two priests nodded and left quickly, one of them raising his eyebrows and pointing to his watch as he left.  Morelli nodded at him and closed the door.

"Sit down, please, Mr. McCoy.  I'm sorry, I don't have much time, this is a busy night as you must imagine.  Midnight Mass starts in just a few hours."

"Yes, Father, this won't take long," McCoy said.  He reflected that the last time he'd talked to Morelli, he'd ended up absolutely convinced that Morelli had known that Estela Curtis had planned to commit suicide.  He wasn't so sure any more, but still needed to scratch the itch of curiosity.  Still needed to do what he could to help Curtis.

"Father, you know why I'm here," he began.  "You know more than you've said about Estela Curtis' death."

"And I told you that I couldn't-"

"Confirm or deny, yes, we've been over that.  You do know that Rey pled guilty this morning?"

Morelli nodded in disappointment.  "He chose to take a deal.  He chose to commit perjury in exchange for less time.  That's his choice.  Even if I knew anything, I couldn't break my commitment to Estela Curtis and to the priesthood in order to bail him out of the consequences of his actions, no matter how much I might want to.  Perjury..." Morelli shook his head, "it's a serious sin.  As bad as anything else he's done in the last few years."

McCoy narrowed his eyes at Morelli.  "You're still judging him, aren't you?  You're still punishing him for not behaving the way you think he should."  Morelli glared at him, affronted.

"He didn't perjure himself just to serve less time.  The police were going to finger Serena for the crime, and she would have been convicted."  Morelli's eyes widened in surprise.  "There's plenty of circumstantial evidence that points to her.  Rey committed perjury to save his daughter," he paused to let that sink in, then continued.  "You're the only one that can prove that they're both innocent, and you're hiding behind your collar, still judging him."  Morelli looked away from him.  "And he's not the only one who's suffering for it.  Serena, and Olivia and Isabel and Tania, will be raised by the foster care system.  Deborah will be cared for by strangers, away from her daughters, away from her husband.  You're punishing all of them."

"I'm not punishing anybody.  Confession is sacred.  I can't break that.  It's not a matter of choice or punishment."

"Like hell."  Morelli frowned at him in admonition at such poor language in a church.  McCoy locked eyes with him, putting together Morelli's reaction to Curtis' plea and his reaction to McCoy saying that Serena had been under suspicion too.  He tossed aside for the moment his own certainty of a few days ago that Serena was responsible, his own small doubts of Curtis's innocence, and went with his gut.

"She told you she was thinking of committing suicide."

Morelli frowned in irritation, but behind the irate expression McCoy caught a glimpse of guilt.  Suddenly he got a hunch and decided to follow it.  "Estela Curtis didn't just tell you she was thinking of committing suicide, she told you how," he said slowly.  Morelli flushed.  McCoy felt his heart skip a beat.

"She told you, didn't she?  She told you she was going to poison herself with Methotrexate and alcohol."

Morelli pressed his lips together.

"I cannot confirm or-"

"Get yourself another line, Father!" McCoy was suddenly furious.  "She told you that she was going to take the exact substances that were found in her system.  You know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she committed suicide."  He came closer to Morelli, glaring at him.  Morelli opened his mouth to deny his accusations, then seemed to deflate.  He sat down and put his head in his hands, giving in.

"You don't understand.  She was a very simple woman.  She didn't realize it could be traced.  She was brilliant when it came to mathematics, accounting, things like that, but... Estela always had... sort of patches of innocence to her.  Rey never talked to her about his work because she just didn't understand any of the scientific aspects of it."

"Did you tell her?  Did you tell her that if she took that medication Rey would be blamed?" McCoy pressed, feeling the unreality of the situation.  A priest revealing a confession... despite the fact that he'd pushed for this, it still felt very wrong.  Once a Catholic schoolboy, always a Catholic schoolboy, he thought again.

"No," Morelli's voice was filled with regret.  "I didn't think it was necessary, I didn't think she would really do it.  I just told her it would be a sin to kill herself.  Told her that her immortal soul would be damned forever," Morelli closed his eyes in pain.  "She was worried about Rey.  Her memory problems were much more serious than she allowed him to see - she wasn't far from needing to move in with him and his family.  She knew she would become just one more problem for him to deal with, and she worried that that would break him," he shook his head in sorrow.

"She knew everything that was going on in his life, and it broke her heart.  She knew that he and Deborah fought all the time, he was about to lose his job, his family had no money left, he was losing his temper with the girls on a daily basis... she knew about Serena's troubles, she even knew that he was breaking his marriage vows and taking drugs.  She was so upset about it... she loved him, and she didn't know how to help him.  She was afraid he might hurt the girls or Deborah, or even commit suicide."

"What did you tell her?"  McCoy prodded gently, afraid that at any moment Morelli might clam up.

"I told her he would never think of doing anything like that.  I told her that God never gives us more than we can bear, that he was strong enough to take care of all of them if he just prayed and followed God's teachings."

McCoy drew in his breath.  Oh, god.  "What did she say?"

"She apologized for her sinful thoughts.  Made an Act of Contrition.  She didn't bring it up again," he covered his eyes.

"When did she confess this to you?"

"About a week before she died.  She came in for confession the day she died too, early in the afternoon," he put his head in his hands.  "I should have known," he whispered.

McCoy looked at Morelli speculatively.  "You have to come forward," he said firmly.

"No.  I can't."

"You've already told me-"

"Because you already knew.  If you reveal what you guessed or what I told you, it wouldn't stand up in court, it would be uncorroborated hearsay."

McCoy raised his eyebrows.

"I looked it up.  Without my testimony, you can't use any of this.  And I won't testify," Morelli gathered himself, a mask of priestly distance erasing the very human sorrow and guilt he'd shown in the last few minutes.  "This discussion is over.  Now if you don't mind, I have to get ready for Midnight Mass."

===

_Sunday, December 28  
10:45am_

"Oh my god," breathed Olivia, echoing what the rest of them were thinking.  As the guards escorted the chain of tan-clad inmates into the Sing Sing family visiting area, they could see a large white bandage wrapped around Curtis' left forearm and a dark bruise along his cheekbone.  He grimaced at them ruefully and said, "I'm OK, I'm OK."  He waited while the guard unlocked him from the chain and uncuffed his hands.  As soon as the guard was done with him and moved on to the next inmate, he held out his arms and the girls rushed to hug him.  He bit back an involuntary "Ow!" as Isabel squeezed him tight, then squeezed her back. "Hey, I'm OK.  Sorry I didn't get a chance to warn you before you came to visit, but I don't have phone privileges yet.  I got hurt yesterday, that's all.  Nothing to worry about."

"What happened?" asked Lisa.

"Nothing, nothing.  Segregation's full right now, so I'm in the General Population for a bit till a space opens up in Seg.  I met up with a guy I put away.  He let me know what he thought of me," he smiled ruefully, rubbing his wrists absently where the cuffs had chafed them.

"Oh my god," Olivia repeated.

"It's nothing, I'm fine.  Couple stitches, that's all," he said dismissively, smiling at her and ruffling her hair.

"Rey-" Deborah began.

"I'm _fine_, OK?" he repeated, his eyes warning her not to ask any more.  She stared at him, hard, and dropped it.

"So how is everybody?" he pulled Tania onto his lap, being careful of his bandage, and gave her a kiss and a squeeze.  She squealed and hugged him back, laughing.  The other girls slowly started to come out of their shock at seeing him hurt, and started to tell him about their Christmas.  He listened, seeming happy in their presence and eager to hear all about what they had been doing in the last few days.  The adults traded worried glances but followed his lead, since he obviously didn't want to discuss what had happened the day before.

As visiting hours neared a close, Curtis pulled McCoy aside.  "Jack, can you stay after they're gone?" he asked in a low voice.  "I need to talk to you in private.  The guard said lawyers can stay a few minutes extra while he does paperwork."

"Sure, no problem," McCoy replied.  "We came in two separate cars.  I was planning on staying to discuss some things with you anyway."

"Are you going to tell him what happened yesterday?" Deborah asked, overhearing them.  Curtis hesitated for a moment, then nodded.  "Then I'm staying," Deborah said firmly, brooking no argument.

"Deborah, there's no need.  You already know what happened, this is just putting it into legalese," he said lightly.

"Then there's no reason I shouldn't stay, right?"

"You can't though - he said only lawyers."

"Then we'll send the girls out a few minutes early, I'll stay until visiting hours are actually over, then Jack can take me back to the others and come back for whatever it was he was going to talk to you about."  Curtis blew out his breath in annoyance, giving in.  They started to get the girls ready to go, and Curtis embraced them all, promising to call as soon as he got phone privileges and reassuring them that he was fine.  Lisa and Briscoe left, taking the girls with them and leaving McCoy and Deborah behind.

"All right, what really happened?" Deborah demanded as soon as the girls had left.

"Deborah, please.  You don't need to be here for this.  Let it go, OK?" he pleaded.

"No.  How can you say that?"

He met her gaze, frustrated with his inability to get her to back off.  "Because it was my own fault and I don't want you worrying about me.  I won't get hurt like this again.  OK?  Please."

"What happened?  What do you mean, it was your own fault?"

"I wouldn't have been hurt if I had done what I was supposed to do.  It won't happen again, I won't be in Gen Pop for long and while I'm there I won't get into this kind of situation again."

"What happened?  What were you supposed to do?" Deborah was growing increasingly agitated.  McCoy suddenly had a sinking feeling that he knew what had happened and put his hand on her arm, trying to calm her and get her to drop the subject.

Curtis took a deep breath.  Then he set his jaw, turned to face Deborah squarely, and took her hands in both of his.  He looked at her steadily for a few moments, then said quietly, "Deborah.  I'm an ex-cop in prison.  You need me to connect the dots for you?"

Deborah stared at him in growing dread.  "What were you supposed to do?" she whispered.

"An inmate I put away a few years ago recognized me, grabbed me, put a shiv, a blade, to my throat and said 'suck me off.'" Deborah gasped but Curtis continued without pausing for breath.  "I fought him.  He wound up with a couple bruises, I got stitches and spent the night in the infirmary.  End of story."

"Oh my god," she covered her mouth with her hands.

"It won't happen again."

"What do you mean, it won't happen again!  You could be killed!"

"Not if I cooperate, no," he held her gaze.  Her eyes widened.

"How can you say that?" she whispered.

"I can defend myself against one unarmed person, but a man with a knife or more than one person will eventually win or kill me.  I can't take that chance."  He took a deep breath.  "Look, I'm not saying this is no big deal, because it is.  But you used to work at a sexual assault crisis centre.  Victims, women and men, they go through hell but they live.  I'm not saying I'm not scared.  The thought of somebody using me like that," his voice roughened and he stopped.  He swallowed and closed his eyes, then steadied himself and continued. "Even as close as I came yesterday, I've been shaking all day.  But the thought of the girls not having a father at all, never being with you again, dying here?  That scares me more.  I'd rather survive it and live to be with you again than die trying to prevent it.  Alive is better."

Deborah stared at him, too horrified for words or tears.  Then she looked at McCoy, his grim expression confirming what her husband had just said, and made a sound like a sob in her throat, closing her eyes.

"Deborah?" Curtis said softly.  She hugged herself and shook her head, unable to speak.  He crossed his arms, mouth set in a grim line and eyes downcast.  Finally she looked at him and reached for his hand.  He gripped her back, hard, and met her eyes.  She slowly reached out and stroked his cheek, and he closed his eyes and sighed.  She drew him close.

"What can I do?  I feel so helpless."

"You feel helpless?" he said bitterly.  She winced.

"What can I do?"  He shook his head, and they held each other in silence for a few more minutes until the guard called out that visiting hours were over.  The other families had started to leave the area, and most of the other inmates lined up and were quickly frisked, cuffed and led away.  Curtis and one other inmate were staying behind, the other man obviously also with his lawyer.  Curtis and Deborah let each other go reluctantly and McCoy started to wheel her out of the visiting area.

"I'll be right back," he told Curtis.  Another visitor, an elderly black woman, looked over at them.

"She just going to the parking lot?" she asked McCoy.

"Yes."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll take her, that's where I'm going too," she said cheerfully, smiling at Deborah.  She waved at the inmate she'd been visiting as he was led out of the room, and took hold of Deborah's chair.  "First time here, honey?" she asked as they left the visiting area.

===

Curtis watched Deborah leave, then turned to McCoy.  "Jack.  Please, get me into Seg.  I can't stay in Gen Pop."

"I'm trying-"

"Try harder, OK?"  Curtis finally let his casual attitude drop, and there was stark fear in his eyes as he continued. "I don't know if I can survive Gen Pop.  Never mind that there's a bunch of guys that want me on their dance card, which is scaring the hell outta me, I think one of them will probably kill me.  Besides... I know it's the only way I have a hope in hell of surviving in here, but I'm not sure I _can_ cooperate.  I - I panicked yesterday."

"You better tell me what happened."  Jack took out a notebook, realizing that he wasn't going to get a chance to talk to Curtis about Father Morelli.

"Yeah, OK."  Curtis leaned back in his chair and gathered his thoughts.  "I went to the cafeteria at lunch time.  We were being moved back to our cells when another inmate spotted me."

"Name?"

"Gonzalez.  Rico Gonzalez.  We were passing by some stairs, there weren't any guards around.  He shoved me outta the line-up and against the wall, under the stairs, with my face to the wall.  Before I even knew what was going on, he had his shiv out."

"What was the shiv made of?"

"Sharpened and serrated piece of hard plastic, white.  He held it to my throat, grabbed my hair, pulled my head back.  He told me he remembered me, that I put him away."

"Did you remember him?"

"Barely.  Long time ago.  He told me if I fought him I would wanna die before he was done with me.  He was holding my head in place, right arm over my chest, shiv right up against my artery, left side of my throat."  Curtis mimed the movements, eyes focused inwardly as he tried to recount the relevant details as if it was a crime scene - which it was.

"I could feel it almost cutting me.  He had his hip up against me, too, pushing me against the wall.  He - uh, he ran his other hand over me, over my chest and groin.  Told me not to move, and he undid his pants.  I think there were maybe three, four other guys under the stairs too, on lookout and cheering him on.  He told me to turn around slowly.  I did, and he - uh, he held the blade tighter and uh, put his, his tongue in my mouth," he grimaced in disgust and swallowed, looking a bit sick.

"Then he told me to kneel, and I did.  He was holding himself with one hand and the shiv in his other hand, up against my neck.  He said 'suck me off', and he tilted my chin up with the point of the shiv so I had to look up at his face, and he had this look, like, like he knew I couldn't do a damn thing about what he was about to do to me, and, and... I panicked."

Curtis took a deep, shaking breath.  His eyes met McCoy's and McCoy could see that he was still in the grip of what had happened, eyes slightly unfocussed.   "I could feel the blade," he put a hand up to his neck where the knife had pressed against him, "but I pulled his pants down to trip him, and pushed off his legs and got up as fast as I could, and he fell back on the floor.  He was yelling, and he slashed at me with the shiv.  I tried to get out from under the stairs, but another inmate grabbed me and threw me back at him, and Gonzalez slashed again, and that's when he cut my arm."  Curtis rubbed his arm absentmindedly, wincing as he pulled the stitches.

He shook his head and continued, "I, I don't remember much after that 'cause it all happened pretty fast.  I know I got in a couple punches but then he pushed me down to the floor, on my stomach, and then he was on top of me and he was holding the shiv to my throat and, and undoing my pants, and then the guards were there.  They pulled him off me.  The other inmates were gone.  There was blood everywhere.  If, if the guards hadn't come by when they did..." Curtis blinked rapidly.  His breath had become shallow as he recounted the story and McCoy wrote it down at a furious pace.

"Jack, I _really_ can't stay in Gen Pop, OK?"

"OK, OK," McCoy soothed.  "I'll go straight to the Warden's office as soon as we're done here.  If they don't have room for you in Segregation, maybe they can keep you in the infirmary or something.  We'll get you out."

"OK."

"How are you feeling?"  Curtis shrugged, looking away, 'I'm fine' on the tip of his tongue.  McCoy sighed and looked at him, eyebrows raised, and Curtis closed his eyes in resignation, knowing he couldn't pretend with McCoy.

"Scared.  I keep - I keep having, like, flashbacks or something.  I keep telling myself nothing actually happened, nothing that bad, anyway - just a scuffle, I've been in worse fights.  But it - it scared the hell outta me.  I, I thought I was gonna pass out, I kinda hoped I would, when he - I - I can still feel him undoing my pants-" he stopped abruptly and sat back, shaking his head and indicating he really didn't want to talk about it.

"Did they take notes on your injuries?"

"I'm not sure.  Prison hospital, I don't know how closely they record anything.  This probably happens every day."

"OK.  We'll keep our own notes.  What does the cut look like?"

"Starts from the top of my arm near my elbow and kinda curves down to the underside, about halfway to my wrist," Curtis traced the cut through the bandage.  McCoy quickly drew a rough sketch of the cut and showed it to Curtis, who nodded.  "I musta twisted my arm when he cut, I don't remember too clearly."

"How many stitches did you get?"

"Twelve."

"And you have a bruise on your cheek.  Anything else?"

"My ribs..."

"Let's take a look."  Curtis hesitated.  McCoy suddenly realized that probably wasn't a terribly sensitive request considering what had happened.  "You don't have to.  Just tell me."

Curtis shrugged.  He untucked his uniform shirt and lifted it away from his side.  The side of his body was covered with bruises, one of them looking like a handprint.  McCoy winced, wrote a few brief notes and made another quick sketch.

"All righty, boys, time to go," the guard said cheerfully to Curtis and the other inmate in the visiting area.  "Gotta close up," he approached Curtis, beckoning the other inmate to come closer.  Curtis stood and both men held still while the guard frisked them perfunctorily, then cuffed them again.

"I'll go right to the Warden, Rey," McCoy assured him.

"Back to home sweet home, boys," the guard said, indicating that they should proceed ahead of him.  Curtis briefly closed his eyes and took a quick breath, abruptly remembering that he was going back to the cellblock and bracing himself.  McCoy watched as his posture and expression changed, as he became outwardly indistinguishable from the other hard-faced criminals he'd seen enter the visiting area, shuttering himself behind a tough expressionless façade for his own protection.  They left the visiting area with a jangle of cuffs and chains.  The door clanged shut behind them.

===

_Sunday, December 28  
6:45pm_

"What the hell happened to him?"  Briscoe demanded as soon as he walked into McCoy's apartment.  McCoy didn't bother trying to evade him.

"Close the door," he said as he dug out the notes he'd made. He looked at them for a moment, then motioned Briscoe to sit and handed them to him.  Briscoe started to read and swore.

"Son of a bitch."

"Yeah."

"Rico Gonzalez.  I remember him.  Rey's in big trouble."

"He's in trouble anyway.  The Warden's not doing anything to protect him.  I couldn't get him to agree to put Rey in Seg, even after what happened.  He said Rey would just have to wait until a space opened up.  I got the feeling he doesn't like ex-cops."

"Maybe he can pick a fight, get thrown in the Hole.  We gotta get him outta Gen Pop."

"We have to get him out of there, period."

"How?  He pleaded guilty."

"Under duress."

"The only way you'll get that overturned is show he lied.  The only way to do that is get Father Morelli to testify.  And he won't."

"He will if we push him hard enough."

"What if Rey doesn't want you to?"

"I don't give a damn any more.  I'm not going to sit by and let him get killed for his moral scruples."  Briscoe cocked his head at him.  McCoy continued.  "If he's willing to commit perjury for his daughter and disregard that part of his faith, then I'm going to assume that he'd be willing to disregard the part of his faith that says that confession is sacred in order to save his life."

"Why don't you ask him?"

"Because if he says no, then my hands are tied."

===

_Sunday, December 28  
8:32pm_

McCoy cornered Father Morelli as he left the evening service.

"Mr. McCoy, please leave me alone.  I am not going to break the seal of confession," he went into his office and started to close the door.  McCoy put his hand out, preventing the door from closing, and entered Morelli's office.  Morelli frowned in irritation.

"You have to.  You can't just sit by and let Rey stay in prison.  His life is in danger there and your testimony would-"

"My testimony is protected by privilege."

"Is that privilege more important than Rey's life?"

"It's... it's a matter of faith, Mr. McCoy.  I have faith that the Church's rules are just and that they must be followed even when it might be easier to break them."

"The Church doesn't ask for blind obedience, Father.  There may be rules but there's also room for common sense, compassion, and conscience.  Ultimately, you can't abdicate the dictates of your conscience just because of the rules.  Your conscience, not the rules, has be the ultimate guide to your actions.  At least, that's what the Jesuits taught me."

Morelli looked at him in surprise.  "If the Jesuits taught you then you must know that confession is sacred."

McCoy blew out his breath, more frustrated than he could remember being in a long time.  "Father, I'm not a particularly devout Catholic.  But I am a Catholic.  I went back to the faith seven years ago, when a friend of mine was killed in a car accident.  I found comfort in the Church and I found my faith again, for what it's worth."  He paused to gather his thoughts.

"This... this doesn't have anything to do with faith, with protecting something that's sacred.  Estela would have wanted you to speak up, you know she would have."  Morelli looked away impatiently.  "Not speaking up when you know she would have wanted you to, just because she's not here to explicitly tell you to... that's following the letter instead of the spirit of the law on the confidentiality of confession."

"You make your living dealing with the letter of the law," Morelli pointed out.

"You aren't supposed to," McCoy retorted.  "What you're doing... you celebrated the birth of Christ three days ago.  It's supposed to be a time to reflect on His life and His message of love and compassion, with our families and loved ones.  Rey Curtis spent Christmas in prison, for a crime he didn't commit.  His family 'celebrated' without him.  Next Christmas they'll be in foster homes around the city and Rey will very likely be dead.  What does that have to do with faith?  What does that have to do with the message Christ taught?"

Morelli stared at him.  "Yes, dead.  Cops in prison, Father - it's not a pretty picture."  Morelli looked away from him, clearly disturbed.  McCoy narrowed his eyes and leaned forward.

"Yesterday an inmate called Rico Gonzalez, whom Rey arrested a few years ago, tried to force Rey to perform oral sex on him."  Morelli blanched and sat down at his desk heavily.  "Rey resisted, and the inmate knifed him and tried to rape him.  The only reason he didn't succeed was that the guards came and pulled him off of Rey.  Rey got twelve stitches on his arm, bruised ribs...  here, have my notes," he threw a copy of his notes onto Morelli's desk.  "Merry Christmas.  Would you like me to bring you the pictures and the results of the rape kit when Gonzalez does succeed?"  Morelli stood up and backed away from him, shaking his head in denial and refusing to look at McCoy's notes.  McCoy followed him, pressing on mercilessly.

"You know what a rape kit is, Father?  They'll take scrapings from under Rey's fingernails, see if he was able to scratch any skin off his attackers trying to defend himself.  They'll try to find any of his attackers' head or pubic hair on his body.  They'll violate him again for the sake of justice by taking semen samples from his mouth and rectum to match them to however many inmates assaulted him," Morelli's face was horrified as McCoy continued forcefully, wanting to make sure Morelli understood exactly what was going to happen.  Giving him a clear mental image of the consequences of his silence.

"They'll take pictures of all of his injuries.  And if he survives, and that's a big if, they'll test him for AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases.  And get a detailed statement of what was done to him.  Rey will relive it while they do all of that, and again at trial, and probably every day for the rest of his life.  And I'll make sure you get copies of everything.  I'll make sure you're there at trial while he recounts it."

"Stop it!  That won't happen!"

McCoy stepped back slightly, giving Morelli a humourless smile.  "It might not.  Rey knows that if he resists he'll probably be killed.  He knows his best chance of survival is to cooperate, consent to his own rape, trade sex for safety.  Which I suppose is a form of prostitution.  So if he can bring himself to do it, that's what he'll do, to save his own life.  He'll be just as traumatized, but he'll live.  Will that make you feel better about leaving him to rot in there, knowing you could set him free?  Is that what you think Estela would have wanted you to do?"

Morelli stared at him, horrified.

"Dead, or a prison whore, Father," McCoy said brutally.  "It's a hell of a choice.  It's not a question of whether it will happen or not, it's only a question of how soon."

"Can't you get him transferred into protective custody?" Morelli asked desperately.

"I'm doing everything I can to get him transferred, but I can't make the Warden care!  And apparently I can't make you care either!  For all I know Rey is being beaten or knifed or raped or killed right now and you won't do a damn thing to stop it!  How is that God's will?  How is that what Estela Curtis would want for her son?" McCoy paused.

"And what the hell does it have to do with faith?"

===

_Monday, December 29  
3:45pm_

Curtis frowned in puzzlement as he was brought into the interview room and saw Father Morelli with McCoy and Briscoe.  Morelli glanced at his bandaged forearm surreptitiously while the guard uncuffed him.  Curtis sat down at the table, looking at Morelli.  Morelli got to the point quickly.

"Rey, this morning I gave a statement to Judge Greico.  I... I broke the seal of confession and told her what your mother confessed to me before she died."

Curtis's eyes widened in astonishment, and he looked at McCoy and Briscoe.  "What?!"

"Your mother confessed to me that she was thinking of committing suicide," Curtis covered his mouth with his hand, staring at Morelli in dismay.  "She also told me how she was going to do it.  She knew about Methotrexate and alcohol.  She heard you explain to your sister that Deborah couldn't drink because she was on Methotrexate."

Curtis closed his eyes, trying to digest the priest's words.  Then he opened them and looked at Morelli.  "Father... confession is sacred.  How could you break that?"

"I had to.  I couldn't let you serve time for a crime you didn't commit."

"But-"

"Confession is sacred, Rey, but so is life.  And your life is in danger here," Morelli said.  "I couldn't stay silent if my silence could kill you.  And I know your mother would have wanted me to speak up."

Curtis looked at McCoy, his expression hard.  "Did you tell him he had to come forward?  Did you tell him what happened Saturday?"

McCoy met his gaze, unflinching.  "Yes," Curtis shook his head, anger and betrayal in his eyes.  "And I would do it again.  It's done now.  Judge Greico said she'll need a few days to make a decision."

Curtis sat back, conflicting emotions warring over his features, processing what had happened.  Morelli cleared his throat.

"Rey, I didn't just make the statement to get you out of here.  I did it because it's my fault you're in here in the first place.  Your mother... she didn't want to be yet another burden for you.  She didn't know how else to help you, she was in despair seeing what your life had become, and what had happened to you.  And that's my fault."

Curtis looked at him blankly.  "I failed you.  That prosecutor was right, Rey.  I... I was angry with you.  I blamed you for your problems, and I made them worse," he confessed shamefacedly.

"How do you figure that?" Curtis asked.

"When I first came to the parish, you and Deborah were everything that a good decent Christian couple was supposed to be.  You both volunteered at the Church, your marriage was sound, you became loving parents... I guess I just couldn't stand the fact that all of that had changed.  I... I resented you.  I blamed you.  And I let you down.  If I had shown up later, when things were already going badly for you, I would have recognized that you were doing your best, that you needed help.  As it was, the changes happened so slowly that I... I guess I never got used to it," he paused.

"The prosecutor was right, Rey.  I wanted to punish you for your failings.  I was disappointed in you so I condemned you.  You didn't fail the Church, Rey.  The Church failed you.  Or rather, I failed you.  I'm sorry."

Curtis stared at him, confused.  "What, do you want my forgiveness?  Father, you're not responsible for my actions.  I'm not a child.  And you're my priest, you're not my social worker."

"You're a member of my parish.  I made myself responsible for you.  I expected you to come to me for help.  And when you did, I didn't help you, I damned you.  I praised your guilt over your failures, and I didn't temper it with pride in your accomplishments or your perseverance.  I never pointed out the good in what you were trying to do.  Holding your family together, staying with your wife, even having Tania... I didn't even recognize that you were depressed, that you were no longer able to make good decisions, that you couldn't even ask for help any more because I had convinced you that you didn't deserve it."

Curtis gazed at him, still not sure what to think about all of this.  Morelli looked down in sorrow.  "I'm sorry, Rey.  For all the times you confessed to me and I condemned you, made you feel guilty... I was more a sinner than you were."

"You were just pointing out what I already knew, Father.  You told me I'd failed because it was true.  You don't need to apologize for that, you don't need my forgiveness."

"If I had bothered to look beyond the text of the Scriptures and read their message of compassion and understanding of human limitations, maybe you wouldn't have failed so much.  Maybe I could have helped, maybe I could have prevented some of your troubles... and if I had dealt with how your mother felt instead of just telling her that suicide was a sin, she would still be alive and her soul wouldn't be lost," he looked broken, guilt-ridden.  Curtis frowned at him and shook his head.

"Father, I'm sorry, but I don't agree with your position on suicide.  I don't believe my mother is in Hell.  I believe God's compassionate and forgiving enough to understand the despair that can lead someone to take their own life."

"It's a mortal sin.  It's throwing away the greatest gift that God gave you."

"That's your opinion, Father, not mine," he looked at his hands for a moment, then back up at Morelli.  "I... I thought about killing myself too," he admitted.  Morelli looked at him, face paling.  "I almost did, several times.  I didn't stop myself because I was afraid of going to Hell, I stopped myself because I didn't want to put my family through surviving my suicide," he paused and looked at Morelli earnestly.  "You might feel my mother's soul is on your conscience, but it's not on mine.  Her death is," he added, "but I'm not worried about her soul."

Morelli shook his head, disagreeing silently.  Curtis smiled slightly.

"I can quote catechism too, Father.  I looked it up.  The catechism says 'we should not despair of the eternal salvation of persons who have taken their own lives.'  God can forgive them too." He paused.  "I've prayed for my mother.  I knew it was possible she'd committed suicide.  I trust that she's with God."

Morelli nodded thoughtfully, not agreeing, but not arguing either.  He cleared his throat and changed the subject.  "Rey, I want to help you now, if you'll let me.  I've given my statement to the judge.  She has to think about it, but Mr. McCoy says that she'll probably acquit you."  McCoy nodded in agreement.

"Let the Church help you, Rey.  You've done enough for the Church.  We have respite care, take advantage of it.  I know Millie's been going to your house every few days informally, but we can set it up as a permanent arrangement, we can send somebody to help out three evenings a week.  We can get somebody to take Tania when she's sick, so you don't have to miss so many days of work.  We can give you some of the Church's money to help you out financially.  And if you feel like that's too much, then work off the debt by volunteering at the soup kitchen, like you used to, on Saturday evenings."

Curtis smiled slightly and said, "Come on, Father.  You want us to come so we can work off the debt, or so we can take advantage of the free meal that comes with volunteering?"

"You and your family were never too proud to join the meal at the soup kitchen when you didn't need it.  What's different now?"  Curtis thought for a moment, and nodded, acquiescing.

"What's going to happen to you now that you've revealed a confession?" he asked.

"I - I don't know.  I have to talk to my superiors, let them know... I don't know what will happen."

Curtis nodded, and there was silence.

"Rey, do you forgive me?"

"Yes," Curtis said simply.  "You're a good priest, Father.  You might not think so right now, but I do.  You care about your parishioners, you do your best for us.  So you're not perfect... you're only human.  I'll speak on your behalf if you want, if your superiors want to hear from any of your parishioners."  Morelli looked at him in gratitude.  There was another pause.

"Father, would you hear my confession?" Curtis asked him, his voice low, twisting his wedding ring.

Morelli stared at him.  "Rey, are you sure-"

"I forgive you.  You have to work out your own conscience between yourself and God, and work things out with your superiors, but I forgive you," he said.  He took a deep breath.  "I've committed perjury.  It's a serious sin and it's weighed on my conscience since I did it.  Will you hear my confession?"

Morelli hesitated for a moment, then looked at McCoy and Briscoe.  He raised his eyebrows at them, indicating that they should move away, and they moved to the other side of the small room, giving Curtis and Morelli as much privacy as they could.  Morelli nodded to Curtis, who knelt before him and crossed himself, bowing his head.

"Padre, perdoname, pues he pecado," he said softly.

As Curtis and Morelli went through his confession, McCoy and Briscoe talked in low voices about what they were going to do next.  Judge Greico had said she needed to take some time, possibly as long as a week, to ponder the legal ramifications of Morelli's testimony.  The Warden had categorically refused to get Curtis out of Gen Pop until a space opened up in Seg.  McCoy was starting to think that the only way he could get a transfer would be to intervene in an official capacity.  Maybe he could get Arthur Branch to speak to the Warden in his capacity as District Attorney, and remind him that one of his legal responsibilities included securing, as far as possible, the safety of the men incarcerated at Sing Sing.  And that he was failing grievously in that responsibility with regards to Prisoner #65B713, Rey Curtis.

===

_Tuesday, December 30  
9:45am_

McCoy, Ross and Briscoe had started to work on Curtis's appeal, just in case Judge Greico didn't consider Morelli's testimony sufficient to overturn the verdict.  They had also started working on a formal complaint to the Department of Corrections regarding the fact that Curtis had been put into the General Population and left there in spite of an attack.  Briscoe was there mainly to help sort documents, get coffee and do miscellaneous grunt work, and because he couldn't stand to feel like he wasn't doing anything.  The phone rang and McCoy picked it up.

"Yes?" he paused.  "Yes, speaking... Yes, I'm his lawyer... Mhm... What?!" McCoy's eyes widened and he sat down heavily. "Where is he now? ... All right, I'm coming in.  I'll need to meet with the Warden immediately after I see Mr. Curtis - ... make it possible!  I'll have the District Attorney give you a call, I'm coming in my official capacity as Executive Assistant District Attorney... Thank you," he hung up and met Briscoe's eyes, feeling sick.

"Jack?" Ross asked, alarmed.

"Rey slit his wrists last night."

===

As they drove to Sing Sing, Deborah was silent, looking out the window.  Ross and Briscoe had stayed behind, working on getting in to see Judge Greico and talking to Arthur Branch about making a case against the Department of Corrections.  McCoy's mind was racing, and it kept coming back to Rico Gonzalez.  He had a sinking feeling that what had happened had to do with Gonzalez, and he cursed himself for not having been able to convince the Warden to keep Curtis in the infirmary or somehow make a space in Seg.

He couldn't believe he and Briscoe had been able to help Curtis come out of a major depression, that Briscoe had stayed up with him night after night, that he had been so close to getting Curtis acquitted, only to have everything go to hell because somehow, somebody got wind of their investigation of Serena.

And he couldn't believe that he'd convinced a priest to break the seal of confession and it still hadn't helped Curtis one damn bit, because the judge wanted to take her sweet time about the priest's testimony and the Warden had it in for ex-cops and a con with a grudge had set his sights on the man who'd arrested him.

===

_Tuesday, December 30  
2:32pm_

McCoy barely suppressed a gasp.  Curtis lay in an infirmary bed, asleep, with an IV running into his left hand, his right hand cuffed to the bedrail.  His wrists were bandaged now as well as his forearm, and some blood had recently seeped through the forearm bandage, bright red against the blue of the hospital gown and the white of the bandages and sheets.  His face was deathly pale and unshaven, his lips dry and cracked.  Even in sleep, he looked restless.  As they approached he opened his eyes, looking at McCoy dully, eyes glassy, then he saw Deborah and gave her a wan smile.

"Hi hon," he said, voice weak.  He tried to move his hand towards her but winced as he tugged the IV line.  McCoy pushed Deborah up to the bed and she took Curtis' hand carefully.  He smiled sleepily and squeezed her fingers softly.  "Watcha doin' here?" his words were heavily slurred.

"We were told that you tried to commit suicide," McCoy said.

"Mm," Curtis nodded weakly.  He blinked groggily, trying to wake himself up.  "C'n anybody hear us?"  McCoy looked around.  There was nobody within earshot.  He shook his head.  "That's what I told 'em, but I jus' did it to get in here.  Head guard in my cellblock reeally hates ex-cops.  He been turnin' a blind eye ta everythin'," he trailed off, losing his train of thought.

"What happened yesterday?" McCoy prompted him.

Curtis blinked again and brought himself back with difficulty. "Gonzalez.  Tried ta fuck me again," Deborah caught her breath as McCoy nodded grimly.  "A guard showed up, but I knew he was gonna get me sooner 'r later an' maybe kill me if I fought him again, so I cut m' wrists so th' guards would havta bring me inta th'nfirm'ry," he paused, out of breath.  "Don' tell anybody it wan't a real attempt though, or I'm back t' th' cellblock fightin' off Gonzalez.  I don' wanna be that guy's girlfrien', I don' think he's much inta romance," he snickered.

"Where did you get the blade?"

"Oh, there's a guy in here use' ta be a cop too, in Baltimore.  I worked with 'im a few years back.  He's done it a few times - cuttin' himself.  Gave me 'is shiv.  Nice guy," he commented.

"How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm feelin' nooo pain," he breathed, "They got me drugged t' th' gills with painkillers, an' sedatives, an' aall kindsa shit.  I'm higher'n a kite.  You look like a fuckin' leprechaun from here," he told McCoy, giggling softly.  "They ha' me in five-point restraints till th' drugs kicked in.  Tha' hurt.  Man, that was a lotta blood though.  An' it wan't easy ta do it, either - had ta really brace myself," he paused for breath.  "He said I should get real drunk 'fore doin' it, make it easier, but I din' have time."  Deborah looked at McCoy in horror.

Curtis closed his eyes.  "Kinda ironic, innit?  After aall the times I thoughta slittin' m' wrists ta end my life, when I fin'ly do it, it's ta save it."  Deborah made a small involuntary sound and he looked at her, then realized what he had said.  He grimaced and closed his eyes.  "Ooh.  Shit.  You weren' s'posed ta ever, ever fin' out 'bout that," he shook his head with regret.  "Please, please don' be mad at me.  I wanted ta tell you, I jus' din' know how," he paused for breath.  "Please, don' be mad at me right now, 'kay?  Yell at me later."

She gripped his hand more tightly in both of hers, face pale, tears in her eyes.  "I'm not mad at you, Rey."  She looked up at McCoy.  "Did you know?"

McCoy nodded.  "Lennie and I both knew," he told her quietly.  "That's why we brought Skoda to see him when he was out on bail, because he was suicidal."  Deborah covered her mouth, trembling.

Curtis opened his eyes, searching her face for anger and finding only love and anguished compassion.  "'Msorry, hon," he gazed at her sadly, dazed eyes filling with tears.  She reached through the bars on the side of the bed and stroked his cheek.  "Sure wish you could stan' up right now an' hold me," he commented weakly.  He tried to move his right hand and winced in pain as the cuff cut into his wrist, even through the bandages.  "Can't even touch your face," he shook his head in frustration.

"Rey... my god..." she choked.

"Better me than S'rena though.  She OK?"

"Yeah, she's OK."

"OK.  Then it's worth it," he closed his eyes and sighed.  "I miss you though.  I wish... I wish you could hol' me.  I wish we'd a been closer th' las' coupla years."  Deborah sobbed once and he opened his eyes and gave her a weak smile.  "Don' cry hon.  M'okay while you're here."

"You're going to be in the infirmary for a few days.  You're on suicide watch, so none of the inmates can get to you.  I'm sure the judge will make her ruling soon," McCoy tried to reassure him, but quickly realized Curtis couldn't really follow what he was saying.  Curtis gripped Deborah's hand tighter and tried to focus his eyes on her.

"Deb'ra.  Don' go, 'kay?  Don' leave me again," he pleaded with her.  He seemed very disoriented, having a lot of trouble staying grounded.

"I'm right here.  Jack's here.  You're in the infirmary.  You're safe."

"'Msafe if you're here," he drifted off briefly, then his forehead creased and he opened his eyes.  He sought McCoy's face.  "Jack, get me inta Seg, please.  I can't... I can't... I can't let Gonzalez..." his eyes were pleading and his breathing became erratic, "I thought I could, I thought, it's better'n bein' killed... but I can't, he, he jus'," he drew in a deep, shaking breath, "I try an' do what he says 'cause I don' wanna get hurt, but ev'ry time, it's like I snap an' I can't stop tryin' to fight 'im off ... every time I even think of 'im touchin' me - oh-" he broke off, suddenly turning green.  "Gonna throw up-"

McCoy quickly moved forward and grabbed a plastic bowl that had been left next to the bed, probably specifically for this purpose.  He pushed Deborah's wheelchair out of the way, grabbed Curtis' shoulder and pulled him onto his side just in time to get the bowl in place.  He held Curtis' shoulder and the bowl as he heaved, and signaled to an orderly who brought a wet cloth to put on his forehead and helped McCoy steady him.  When it seemed he was finally done, McCoy let him lie back down.  The orderly wiped his face and checked that the IV and bandages were still in place, and Curtis hissed in pain.  The orderly gave McCoy a cup of water with a straw for Curtis and picked up the bowl.

"That's the cop Gonzalez is after, huh?" asked the orderly in a low voice.  McCoy looked at him, only then realizing that he was also an inmate.  "Yeah, if Gonzalez was after me I'd off myself too.  He's vicious.  Poor bastard," he shook his head and left, taking the bowl with him.

McCoy held the straw to Curtis' mouth.  "Have some water, Rey."

Curtis sipped some of the water, then moved his head back and forth on the pillow, too disoriented to really understand what was going on.  He whispered, "Deb'ra?" and McCoy brought Deborah back to his bedside.  Deborah grasped Curtis' hand again.

"Deborah, por favor, ayudame," Curtis whispered.

"Aqui estoy," Deborah said soothingly, then started speaking to him softly in Spanish, reaching through the rails on the side of the bed and stroking his forehead.  He closed his eyes and listened to her, occasionally smiling slightly at her words.  McCoy left them alone and paced around for a while, thinking about what he needed to say to the Warden to secure Curtis' transfer to Seg while they waited for Judge Greico to make up her mind.

Half an hour later, he approached the bedside again.  "We're going to have to go soon, Rey.  Visiting hours are almost over."

"Don' go," he said to Deborah.  She gripped his hand more tightly, shaking her head helplessly.  He sighed.  "How come I keep losin' you, Deb'ra?"  Deborah frowned at him quizzically.  "I do.  You lef' when I slep' with tha' student, an' then, then when you got MS you pretty much left again, an' then when I got arrested, and now I jus' got you back an' you gotta go again.  How come you keep leavin'?" he murmured, and his eyes closed with weariness.  "Hate losin' you.  It's like I lose part of me.  Walk aroun' like I got no soul when you're not there."  Deborah gripped his hand in both of hers, misery etched across her face.

"OK, visiting hour's over boys and girls.  Come on, out you go," said a guard loudly.

"Noo..." Curtis breathed out, holding Deborah's hand more tightly.  He focused his eyes on the guard with difficulty.  "Please, jus' letter stay a li'l bit longer, 'kay?" he asked.

"Get the hell outta here," the guard told Deborah rudely.

"C'mon, man, I won' mouth off atcha any more, jus' let 'er stay, please..." Curtis begged, his voice like a lost little boy's.  The guard grabbed Deborah's wheelchair and pulled her back.  "Hey!  Don't!!  Ow!" Curtis flinched as his IV was pulled, and let go of Deborah's hand.  "C'mon, man, let 'er stay, she's all I got, _please_..."

"Happy New Year, pal," the guard sneered at him as he pushed Deborah away.  Curtis' dazed eyes filled with longing as they followed Deborah's chair, then he gave a sob and closed them, exhausted from his injuries, the medication and the visit.

Deborah was silent as they left the infirmary.  McCoy looked at her worriedly, and put his hand on her shoulder.  "Deborah?"

"He's right.  I do keep leaving him.  He's been more faithful than I ever have.  I've never cheated on him... but I've left him so many times.  And he'd never leave me.  He never has," she swallowed.  "And now that I'd give anything to stay with him, I don't have a choice," she looked down into her lap.  "Jack, if he stays there much longer, he's going to die in there, and he's going to die alone and in pain," she said quietly.

===

_Wednesday, December 31  
3:35pm_

"Rey."

Curtis opened his eyes, much clearer than the day before but clouded with pain this time instead of sedatives.  He looked at Briscoe and McCoy.

"The judge made her ruling.  She set aside the verdict," McCoy informed him.

"What's that mean?"

"You're free to go," Briscoe said gently.

"I'm free to go?"

"Yeah," Briscoe nodded.

"There gonna be another trial?"

"No," McCoy smiled.  "You've been declared not guilty.  Silcox says he won't appeal."

"What about Serena?"

"No charges are being laid against her.  Your mother's death has been ruled a suicide."

Curtis closed his eyes.  "It's over?"

"Yeah.  It's over," Briscoe told him.

Curtis lay on the bed, unmoving, just breathing deeply.  "Where's Deborah?" he finally asked.

"She's waiting for you at home.  We need to get some paperwork done here, get the infirmary to give you some prescriptions for the pain and for that forearm cut - it looks like it got a bit infected.  Then they'll give you back your personal effects and release you," McCoy explained.

"She gonna be there when I get home?"

"Yeah.  So will your kids," Briscoe added.

"She gonna stay this time?"

Briscoe felt his throat tighten.  McCoy nodded.  "I think that's a fair bet," he reassured him, his own voice unexpectedly rough.

===

_Wednesday, December 31  
11:52pm_

As they pulled up to Curtis' building, they spotted a small crowd of people standing outside in the clear, freezing night.  McCoy looked at Briscoe, puzzled, and Briscoe checked his watch.  "Oh.  It's almost midnight."  They got out, and Briscoe woke Curtis and helped him out of the car.  They saw Curtis's older daughters come running out of the building.  Serena reached him first.

"Daddy!"  She hugged him, and he staggered a little under her embrace. The other two girls reached him a second later, and he knelt down to hug them all, stifling a cry of pain as they jostled his injuries.  He looked up and saw Deborah holding Tania on her lap and being wheeled over by Lisa.  He stood up and the older girls let him approach their mother.

"Rey.  Thank god," she reached for him and they embraced briefly, as Tania struggled between them and squealed at the sight of Curtis.  Lisa reached down and plucked her from Deborah's lap, squeezing her small form.  Curtis gave Tania a kiss and ruffled her hair as his sister held her, the cuts on his arms preventing him from lifting her.

"Let's get inside," Briscoe suggested, knowing that Curtis wasn't in any condition to stay outside for long.  The family started to troop into the building.  As they moved in, McCoy heard the crowd outside begin to chant,

"10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 Feliz Año Nuevo!  Happy New Year!"

"What happened to your wrist, Daddy?" asked Isabel.  Curtis glanced at her briefly, and met Deborah's eyes.  He shook his head dismissively.

"Nothing, sweetie.  I'll tell you some other day.  Let's just get inside."

"Hey, Dad, there's firecrackers out there!  Wanna see?" Serena asked.

"Not really, Serena, I'm a little tired."

"Yeah, they look kinda dinky," she said, turning her back on the festivities and following the rest of the family up the stairs.  "We had Chinese takeout for dinner!  We saved you leftovers - shrimp and noodles."

"My favourites!" he said and winked at her tiredly.  Briscoe helped Deborah out of her chair and he and Lisa started to help her up the stairs.

"How did you know what your mother ate for dinner the day she died, Rey?" McCoy asked as the procession slowly neared Curtis' floor.

"You mean fish and vegetable stew?" Lisa said over her shoulder as she and Briscoe supported Deborah.  Briscoe looked back at McCoy with an 'I-told-you-so' smile.  Curtis gave them both a tired grin.

"Come on, you were both raised pre-Vatican Two, yeah?  It was a Friday."

"No red meat on Friday," remembered Briscoe, nodding.

"And she always had the same thing?  Every week?" asked McCoy.

"No, once in a blue moon she had fish and rice.  I gambled that she hadn't that night."

"Did you really think that would fool me?"

"Hey, you let me plead, didn't you?"

"And the will?  Did you really know?"

"No, I didn't know," Curtis reached his floor, almost as weary as Deborah as she collapsed into her chair.  "Didn't even suspect.  Serena knew because my mother yelled it at her during a fight."

As everybody entered the apartment and removed their jackets, McCoy tripped over a toy that had been left near the couch and automatically grabbed at Curtis' shoulder to steady himself.  Curtis instantly whipped around and threw him against the wall violently, backing away from him quickly, stopping when he reached the couch.  McCoy staggered against the wall, winded, as a frozen silence fell across the room.  Curtis stared at McCoy in shock.

"Christ, Jack.  I'm sorry.  Shit," he covered his eyes.  "I didn't mean to, I, I thought-" his hand and voice shook.  The girls stared at their father, eyes wide.

"Lleva a las niñas a su pieza," Deborah said to Lisa in an undertone.  "Rey.  Sit down," she tugged at his hand, pulling him down.

"I'm sorry.  I'm sorry", whispered Curtis, hiding his face in his hands, elbows on his knees.  A spot of blood appeared on his forearm bandage and started to grow - he'd probably ripped a stitch open with that throw.

"My fault, sorry," McCoy said weakly as Briscoe supported him, wondering if anything was broken or merely bruised.  What the hell was he thinking, grabbing onto a man who'd been fighting off some vicious con's advances for the last week.  Served him right.

"It's OK," murmured Deborah, levering herself onto the couch next to Curtis with great effort.  She pulled Curtis back and drew his head to her shoulder, holding him close.  He buried his face against her neck, holding on to her tightly, and breathed in deeply, trembling.  Olivia drew closer.  Deborah glared at Lisa, "Take them into the bedroom or take them outside," she hissed.

Lisa shook her head and approached, putting her hand on her brother's bowed head and stroking his hair as the girls gathered around him, Olivia, Isabel and Tania on the floor and Serena on the couch next to him, leaning against him.  Curtis didn't look at any of them as he held on to Deborah, breath still harsh.  Then Serena said softly, "It's OK Daddy.  It's over.  You're safe now, you're home."  Suddenly his body started to shake with deep racking sobs as Deborah held him tight.

"Is Daddy crying?" Isabel asked quietly.

Lisa nodded, her own eyes brimming over.  "Daddy's gone through a lot, sweetie.  He'll be OK.  He'll just need some time."

McCoy and Briscoe glanced at each other and quietly left the apartment, leaving Curtis and his family to deal with his homecoming in private.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" McCoy asked.  Briscoe looked back.

"Yeah.  His family's with him.  He'll be OK," he said, and he closed the door.

===

**Author's Notes:** Spanish-English translations:

"El Señor este con ustedes."  
"The Lord be with you."

"Y con tu Espíritu."  
"And with your Spirit."

"El Señor todopoderoso los bendiga, El Padre, y El Hijo, y El Espíritu Santo."  
"The Almighty Lord bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

"El Señor nos ha liberado del pecado. Vayan en paz"  
"The Lord has freed us from sin.  Go in peace."

"Demos gracias a Dios."  
"Let us give thanks to God."

"Es el abogado de Reynaldo Curtis"  
"This is Reynaldo Curtis' lawyer"

"Padre, perdoname, pues he pecado," he said softly.  
"Father, forgive me, for I have sinned."

"Deborah, por favor, ayudame," Curtis whispered.  
"Deborah, please help me."

"Aqui estoy," Deborah said soothingly  
"I'm here."

"Feliz Año Nuevo!!  Happy New Year!!"  
Instant translation courtesy of NYC's bilingualism.

"Lleva a las niñas a su pieza,"  
"Take the girls to their room."


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Disclaimer: Not mine, Dick Wolf's.  No permission, no profit, no money, yadda yadda.

e-mail address is

ciroccoj2002yahoo.com

_Labour Day Weekend, Nine Months Later  
Friday, September 3, 2004  
6:10pm_

As Briscoe reached Curtis' floor, his apartment door opened and a pretty young woman came out.  She called back, "Adios, Rey! Los vemos el domingo?"

"Ya, domingo, gracias Ana!"

"De nada!"

She passed Briscoe, smiling up at him on her way down the stairs.  Briscoe poked his head into the open door.  "Rey?"

"Yeah, come on in, Lennie."

Curtis peered around the corner from the kitchen, holding Tania in a sling on his hip.  "Come into the kitchen, I'm just finishing up," he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.  Briscoe felt mild alarm.

"Rey?  You OK?"

"Wha?" he sniffled and looked at Briscoe, eyebrows raised.  Briscoe looked back at him, puzzled by his reddened, watery eyes but cheerful expression.  Curtis suddenly grinned, "Oh!  Oh, no, yeah, I'm fine, Lennie, I've been chopping onions," he said, chuckling at Briscoe and wiping his eyes again.  "Come on in, I don't want this stuff to burn."

Briscoe followed him into the tiny kitchen, laughing softly at himself.  Two pots were bubbling away, some kind of meat dish and rice, from the look of them.  Curtis gave them both a quick stir, tasted the rice and added a bit of salt to it, automatically turning to the side to keep Tania from touching the pots.  "Hey, can you help me move the table into the living room?" he asked.

After setting Tania down, Curtis and Briscoe moved the small table and set it, chatting about one of Briscoe's cases as they worked.  As Briscoe helped Curtis move the table, he noticed that the scars on his arms were fading.  When he'd first been released from prison, they had been angry, ugly, red and highly visible, the one on his left forearm snaking jaggedly down in a vivid reminder of the violence he'd endured, the ones on his wrists equally vivid reminders of the violence he'd been driven to do to himself.  Curtis had worn long sleeved shirts for a long time.  Now the scars were a fainter pink, still noticeable against his dark skin, but no longer immediately shocking.

"Niñas!  Vengan!" Curtis called down the little hallway.

"Hey Uncle Lennie!"  Isabel shouted out, racing to give him a hug.  Olivia, pushing her mother's wheelchair, smiled up at him.  The family sat down at the table.

"Whose turn is it?" Deborah asked.

"Me," said Serena.  The family clasped their hands and bowed their heads.  "For-what-we-are-about-to-receive-we-thank-Thee-oh-Lord-Amen," she mumbled quickly.

"Amen," the family echoed, and started to pass the food about.

The meal was pleasant, the conversation flowing well.  Deborah was counseling a church member whose child was an alcoholic; Curtis' latest work review had gone well and he was finally off performance probation.  Briscoe was testifying for a lunatic judge; McCoy had apparently just gained a new 'McCoy Toy' at the office.  Olivia was looking forward to her first day of high school and Isabel's baseball team had come in second place in the local championships.  Serena ate in silence, helping to feed Deborah and rolling her eyes in annoyance at many of her sisters' comments, but otherwise unobtrusive.

After the meal had been eaten and the table cleared, Briscoe's cell phone went off.  He excused himself and went into the kitchen to answer the call.

"Hey, Lennie, did you talk to the witness on the third floor?"

"No, I thought you were gonna get her."

"Damn, no, I thought you had her.  Damn.  Would you mind?"

"What, now?  It's Friday night, Eddie."

"No, no, any time before Tuesday should be fine, I just wanted to check.  I wouldn't be working tonight either except I got a hunch about Donner.  I actually called because I'm looking for the file with Donner's priors."

"Oh, bottom drawer, I think..."

"OK, let me take a look..."

As Briscoe waited for Green to shuffle through his desk, he glanced into the living room.  Serena was pointing out errors in Isabel's Sunday school homework, and Isabel was arguing with her.  Olivia was stacking blocks with Tania, who babbled happily.  Curtis had moved Deborah to the couch and sat down beside her, drawing her close and holding her hand.  Their heads were close together as they talked quietly.  Curtis laughed at something Deborah said and kissed her temple.  She smiled and brushed the hair off his forehead.  She kissed him back, and Briscoe suddenly felt a bit embarrassed as Deborah put her hand on the back of Curtis' neck and their kiss became deeper - not inappropriate in front of the children, but probably not anything that they would feel comfortable with him seeing.  Briscoe ducked back into the kitchen.  Serena's gruff voice floated out from the living room,

"Oh gross, get a room!"

Briscoe glanced back at the living room.  Curtis and Deborah chuckled, still kissing, and Curtis waved a dismissive hand in the direction of his daughter, who rolled her eyes in mock annoyance and went back to haranguing Isabel.  They finally broke off the kiss with a grin, smiled at one another for a moment, then went back to their conversation.

"Nope, not there," said Green.

"Try the second last drawer - it's a blue folder, I know that much," Briscoe suggested.

It hadn't been an easy year, even after Curtis' release.  Because Estela Curtis' death had been ruled a suicide, the insurance money had never come in.  All that was left was her estate, which was barely enough to cover the loss of Curtis' salary during the time that he had been on trial, in prison, and recuperating from his injuries.  Curtis' family was still desperately poor.

Serena had been suspended twice for fighting, and still frequently butted heads with the rest of the family.  Deborah's physical condition continued to slowly deteriorate.  She was no longer able to go up or down the stairs at all, and she was often bothered by eye problems.  She had gone through a period of difficulty with her speech.

And Curtis hadn't just come out of prison with physical scars.  He'd had a difficult time dealing with the memories of what had happened there.  He was still on anti-depressants, and a few months ago had told Briscoe that he finally accepted he would probably need to stay on them for a long time.

As Curtis had once observed, nobody's promised a happy ending.  But they were now as close as they were likely to come to one.  Though poor, they had some relief from the Church in terms of donations, respite care, and counseling - supportive counseling, not just guilt trips.  Serena and Curtis, though they clashed frequently, were normally very close.  Serena saw him as an ally now, not an enemy.

It was still difficult to deal with Deborah's illness; it was still not easy to cope with the demands of their youngest child.  But at least now they didn't have to do it alone, and there was no more talk of divorce or suicide.  Curtis was able to ask for help when he needed it, and accept it when it was offered.  He was still attending Mainstay meetings, and he and Deborah had formed friendships with some of the other couples in the group.  He had even done two presentations: one for 'MS and Pain Management' and one for, "Get this," he'd laughingly told Briscoe, "'MS and Intimacy,' I cannot believe I let myself get talked into that one."

He'd gained back some of the weight he'd lost, and although he was often tired, he was no longer perpetually exhausted.  He hadn't used drugs since before the trial, and had never gone out to a bar to pick up a stranger again.  He looked a lot more relaxed and content.  The scars on his arms were fading, and Briscoe hoped that the memories of prison were doing the same.

And when he and Deborah looked at each other, frustrated longing, anger and guilt had been replaced with serenity and loving acceptance. At least now there was also joy in the midst of their troubles.  Their life was not easy, but at least now they were dealing with it together.

Briscoe remembered the gaunt, exhausted, dull-eyed man he'd gotten to know last September.  He was gone.  Briscoe also recalled the cocky young detective he'd met nine years ago.  He was gone too - but then again, that was part of growing older.  The man he saw now was sadder and more humble, but also wiser and in many ways stronger than the one Briscoe had first been partnered with.

"OK, yeah, here it is," said Green, finally finding the file.  Briscoe heard the shuffling of paper.  "Mm-mm-mm, Mr. Donner does not work or play well with others," he observed.  "Oh, here it is, Possession With Intent, co-defendant Spiky Price.  Bingo.  Thanks, Lennie."

"Don't mention it."  Suddenly Tania appeared at Briscoe's side, grabbing his arm and chanting nonsense in a sing-song voice.

"Where are you anyway?"

"Rey's house."

"Oh, how's he doing?"

Briscoe looked into the living room.  Curtis had lain down on the couch with his head on Deborah's lap.  They made a pretty picture together, as she stroked his hair absently while he read to her from Isabel's homework.  It looked like they were trying to adjudicate a semi-good-natured argument between Isabel and Serena.

Briscoe smiled.  "Pretty good."

"Good.  Tell him I said hi.  I'll see you Tuesday."

"Have a good weekend, Ed."

Briscoe went back to the living room to join Curtis and his family.

===

Spanish-English Translations:

She called back, "Adios, Rey! Los vemos el domingo?"  
"Bye, Rey!  We'll see all of you Sunday?"

"Ya, domingo, gracias Ana!"  
"Yeah, Sunday, thanks Ana!"

"De nada!"  
"You're welcome!"

"Niñas!  Vengan!" Curtis called down the little hallway.  
"Girls! Come!"


End file.
